


Prints in The Snow

by TheWayfaringWriter



Series: Lyon [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 39,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWayfaringWriter/pseuds/TheWayfaringWriter
Summary: Winter is coming and the whole of House Stark knows it, but none know it as the eldest Stark daughter does. Lyon Stark belongs in the north as much as the snow itself does, yet she herself is not as northern as her family may think. Only Catelyn and Eddard Stark know the truth about their golden haired daughter and of the blood she does not share with the Warden of the North.When Lyon's father, Lord Eddard Stark, is named the new Hand of the King, Lyon and her sisters must follow their father into the claws of the lion's domain. Lyon must play the game of thrones, and she must learn to win if she wishes for her family to live.
Series: Lyon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079078
Kudos: 11





	1. Stark Beginnings

Bran's arm wavered as he aimed the longbow toward the target ten or so yards ahead. He strained to keep the arrow back with his finger lodged near his jaw, just as he had been told to.

"Don't think too much, Bran." His brother, Jon, murmured into Bran's ear. The boy shook, then released the string and let the arrow fly.

Miss, Lyon Stark thought. The arrow struck the post below the target.

"It's alright, keep at it." She said to him. He caught her eyes, smiled, and pulled back another. Lyon's other brothers were not so supportive as they convulsed into giggles. Rickon, being seven, only did as Robb did. She and Jon exchanged a look through their laughter.

"And which one of you was a marksman at twelve?"

The ever so recognizable voice of their father boomed from the walkway above, drawing the eyes of his children in the courtyard. She looked to her father, and the mirth in his eyes brought a smile to her face.

"You, father?" She returned, propping herself onto a barrel and wrapping her heels against the body.

"Not even close." Ned's shoulders shook with his chuckle. Edward Stark was a Stark, pure and true. With hair as dark as the northern dirt, just like that of his sons. The only daughter that shared his northern resemblance seemed to be Arya, the youngest of the three girls. Sansa and Lyon, although differentiated by their interests, shared the look of their mother. They were stormy summers, and their brothers and sister were the white winters and blackest nights.

"Probably couldn't even pick up a sword at twelve." She slipped the snide remark into Bran's ears and brought a grin to his face. "Go again now, you've got this one."

With their father watching now, Rickon's and Robb's laughter faded into silence and anticipation for Bran's next arrow to make its course. Like before he connected his thumb to his jaw, and after Jon's instruction to relax his bow arm, he shot.

The arrow went high and soared over the fences, and laughter resumed. A giggle barely escaped Lyon, but even Jon had begun to make jests at Bran's atrocious shot. It was hard not to join in.

Jon's hand slapped down on his younger brother's shoulder. "It's all right, better luck next time." Bran didn't look convinced. Lyon supposed it was hard to be convincing when you were giggling like Jon was. Their jests and chuckles didn't last long. Whistling on the breeze caught their ears just as a flying arrow soared past Bran's ear and lodged itself in the center of the target. Bran cast a look over his shoulder and there was Arya, longbow in hand and a smirk on her face. She bowed with a flourish and Bran dropped his bow and was racing after her in an instant, laughter trailing after them.

"He's still better than you, eh Robb?" Lyon teased.

"Oi," already humor filled his eyes. "Wrong person to tease, sister."

"Big sister, mind you. And you couldn't even hit a wall with a sword if it were a foot in front of your eyes, little brother."

"Oh, that is it!" 

Playtime was not just meant for children. In the eighteen years she had lived she never once saw the sense in abandoning this one childish antics, whether it be through words or actions. Perhaps it disappointed her mother that she still held to such ideals, but there was nothing like play fighting with her brothers.

Robb's hand found one of the wooden swords strung nearby. She found her own in rebuttal. "Not a real sword? What? You leave it where you hung your balls?"

Jon's howl of laughter initiated the spar and pushed Robb to lunge forward. The two wooden sparing swords clashed with sharp smacks and continued to meet through every parry and block Robb or Lyon executed. Albeit, Robb was a fine young swordsman, but she had been working longer, harder, and smarter, and soon the sword was sent out of his hand and into the dirt.

"Point, me." She hollered, planting the wooden blade into the dirt. Robb's hand was still open as if grasping an invisible hilt, and then he shook his head.

"Point, you." He said and went to retrieve his sword. Lyon returned hers to the rack.

"Lyon, come here," Ned called from above and drew her to look at the walkway above the courtyard. He no long haphazardly leaned over the rail with her mother, but instead, his narrowed grey eyes were solemn. Lyon left her brothers there and went to him, taking the stairs by two to get to his side.

"What is the matter?" She inquired, head tilted.

"The deserter from the Night's Watch has been found. I need you to prepare Bran."

"Of course I will..." She frowned. "Mother will not like it."

"She already knows." He said, and Lyon cringed for him. Lady Catelyn Stark was the most remarkably protective mother in all of the north, and probably all of the south. As her firstborn Lyon knew it well. She would not allow Bran to see such brutality without having her husband aware of her displeasure.

My father's hand suddenly came upon her shoulder. "I did not expect my first daughter to become the one I would trust with such matters."

"Yes, well, beheadings are beheadings." She tried for a lopsided smile. "I saw my first when I was young, you couldn't have stopped it. Neither could you have stopped me the day I picked up a sword, or a bow. We Stark women are far too complex to stick with needling or sewing."

"I know, and I love ye for it. Just don't tell your mother I approve."

Ah, there was that twinkle of humor she knew. She lightly elbowed him in the side. "Good to know the cold hasn't sapped you of your good heart. I'll go get Bran."

Lyon turned curtly to leave, but her father's hand caught her elbow. Their eyes locked, green met grey.

"Remember, Lyon. Winter is coming." Solemn with understanding, she nodded.

"Indeed it is, father." She said, and his hand released her and was off to fetch Bran.

Winter was most certainly coming. Not because it was the Stark phrase, but because it always came, one way or another. It always did.


	2. Misfortune

Since Lyon's first execution, she had served as her brother's watchers, nurturing them in ways neither their mother or father could. Catelyn Stark did not attend executions, and it would not serve her father nor brothers well if they were coddled by their father. So it was Lyon that spoke of death as death's hand took away the glistening light of life as best as she could.

"Are you ready, Bran?" Lyon checked his horse over, eyeing the harness and saddle that covered the creature. All seemed to be in order.

"Yes."

His answer contradicted everything he must've been feeling. Bran's words spoke differently than his eyes, as she had seen happen with her brothers before him. She turned to face Bran and knelt to a single knee, setting her hands upon his fur covered shoulder.

"You are not, and neither were Robb or Jon. What father wants you to see serves a purpose. He believes you are strong. As do I." His downcast eyes lifted to hers. "Bran Stark, I believe in you even if you do not. And when have I ever been wrong?"

Bran's eyes lowered. "More than you tell me... Probably."

"Hey!" His wit was quick, but her hand was quicker and lightly whacked the side of his head. "That's not very nice." Even as she said it she was smiling, and eventually so was he.

"Neither is hitting your little brother, Lyon." Robb's voice was behind her, as was the sound of his horse's trodding against the dirt.

Lyon straightened, a hand on Bran's shoulder to steer him toward his horse. "It was a love tap." She faced her oldest brother with a grin. From atop his horse, he looked the part of a true Stark, covered in thick black leather with a fur collar, his black hair curling around his strict jaw. She did not resemble him like she resembled Sansa, she thought, not for the first time.

"Of course it was. Where is Balthasar? Father tells me you're coming with us."

As Lyon helped Bran onto his horse she made a quick gesture to the stables. "He is stabled. Take Bran with Jon, Theon, and father, I will follow close behind."

Robb nodded in acknowledgment and grabbed Bran's reigns once he was steady, guiding the horse through to the assembled men for the execution. As they went past Winterfell's iron gates her feet took her to the stables where the speckled steed stood, white mane tangled with braids and loose hairs. Lyon took a step toward her mount, but broad arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her back. Fear was her first instinct, but when she felt moist, warm lips upon the naked nape of her neck she found herself trying to holster a giggle.

"Shh, if you don't quiet then they'll hear you." Theon murmured into her neck, then spun her and pressed her back to the wall. "But I do like hearing you when you're louder.."

"That's very charming, Theon." Lyon pushed his chest, but his flirtations only brought her closer to him. Theon Greyjoy was, by far, the most insufferable flirt she had ever met, but he could warm a bed well enough.

"You love it."

She took his stubbly chin between her fingers and brought his lips down to meet hers, taking his bottom lip between her teeth. His chuckle brought a chill colder than the north but brought a desiring warmth elsewhere. Lyon was breathless when they parted, and Theon's grip only tightened.

"My father is waiting for both of us. They've probably left by now."

"I doubt they'll miss us too much."

"I have to be there for Bran." Theon was silent. "But tonight I would gladly accommodate to your needs... or perhaps Ros will instead." She added flippantly and went to move away.

His lips tightened into a grin and came down upon hers once more, parting only when their breath needed catching. "You are nothing like Ros, Lyon Stark."

"Tonight then." She said, smiling wryly. They separated and she brought her attention back to her horse, heat still flowing through her legs as she took the reigns and brought the horse out of the stable before mounting Balthasar. White with Auburn and brown speckles, he was as fast as the wind and took little time in catching up with the tail of her father's assembled men. Soon she was beside her brothers and their horses. Not long after she caught sight of Theon, and rode on in silence as she caught him grinning widely.

The stump in which the executions were held was located just outside of Winterfell's wall, a solitary figure in the midst of rolling hills and dense forests around it. Every horse could be heard on the frozen ground, a strange rhythm that lulled her mind to sleep. It was the realization that a man was to die today that seemed to bring the frost to her breath instead of the North's climate, but by now she was accustomed to the feeling. A man was to die today. All she could do was watch the hills and the trees before it happened.

The horses slowed at the site, all too familiar with the deed that was about to go on. Balthasar slowed to a stop like it was an old routine, and Lyon slid from his back and handed the reigns to one of the soldiers. Bran came off of his horse, tailed by Jon and Robb. Falling in step beside her brothers she stopped some ways from the stump. But no matter how far she went it was still close enough to taste the blood in the air.

Today Lyon would be the only woman to taste the deserter's blood on the air.

"The first time I set foot out here I had just celebrated my tenth name-day." She folded her hands behind her back. "Strange to think that was ten years ago."

Bran turned his eyes to her, but she could only stare at the bloodied stump. "But you're..."

"A woman." She finished for him. "I was too curious for my own good. Needling and whatnot were fine and all, but I had always admired father. So I wanted to be a part of this too; I wanted to be like him."

"What did you do when it... happened?" Bran asked.

The eyes of her brothers turned to her, and she pressed for a solemn half smile. "I prayed for the man, and then I walked over to my father and hugged him. And I told him I was sorry. He didn't know I was hiding in a bush nearby until I emerged."

"You apologized for hiding?"

"No, I apologized because he swung the sword."

He didn't say anything after that, and Jon and Robb were just as silent. They knew the story as she had told them when they first came to bear witness.

The cold wind nipped at their faces but it wasn't anything they were unused to. A few strings of honey hair came from her braid, and she pushed them behind her ear. Out of sight, out of mind, and she pulled her hood over her head.

"Excuse me," Lyon said to her brothers, leaving their sides as she strode toward their father. He was ready by the stump as his men dragged the deserter forward. She stopped by his side, watching while they hauled the young boy forward.

"Bran is doing well." She told him. He showed little expression. "The north stands by you."

Lyon stepped away. It was not unusual that he was so silent on a day like this. No one wanted to execute a deserter, no one good, at least. Her feet carried her back to her place beside her brothers as the business began.

They hauled the young deserter forward, pushing him up to the stump. Stubble did not line his chin, yet he didn't look any older than she. He was gangly from starvation and malnourishment, and his fear could be seen in the way his head did not lift and his shoulders meekly fell forward. Many carried the same expression at the moment they were sentenced to die, but in his eyes, there was more.

"White Walkers. I saw the White Walkers. I saw them." He rambled on as he was shoved forward. The deserter met the Lord of Winterfell's eyes. "I know I broke my oath. And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm sorry. Tell them I'm no coward."

Ned Stark gave a curt nod in acknowledgment to the young man's request before his legs were kicked out beneath him and he was bent over. From beside him, Theon held out the sheath that contained the ancient blade, Ice. With two hands Lyon's father withdrew the blade and plunged the tip into the dirt, bowing his head.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name-"

Jon whispered to Bran, "Don't look away. Father will know if you do."

"-Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, I, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

Lord Eddard Stark raised Ice over his head and sent the blade upon the neck of the deserter. No noise came save for the squelch of steel against flesh. The head upon the stump toppled to the ground, blood squirting from the severed neck. Lyon watched long enough for the head to still and for the body to collapse before turning her eyes to Bran. As far as she could tell he hadn't even blinked, he was standing so still.

"You did well," Jon said to him.

Lyon's hand fell on Bran's shoulder. "Come, back to our horses. We need not dwell here any longer."

He did not reply, only dipped his head and walked toward his mount. Her hand stayed on his shoulder before sliding off to allow her to pull herself onto Balthasar.

Lyon caught her father in the corner of her eye as he strode toward Bran and the two of them spoke quietly. The others had already begun hauling themselves onto their own horses, and the deserter's body was quickly being disposed of.

"You look as though you held that ax yourself." Robb's horse trotted up to Balthasar.

"That's my face." Her wisecrack managed to tilt my brother's lip. "Still don't look as ugly as you."

"We're siblings, you're not that far off."

Once such a comment would have given her reason to falter, but her lopsided grin held tight. "Very true, Robb. Still prettier than you, though!" Her hand swept back and hit the rump of the boy horse. The mare snorted before taking off with an alarmed Robb atop.

Her laughter trailed off, a sound that filled the grim silence in the air. Soon enough that too was drowned out, as a wolf howled in the distance.


	3. Dire Needs

"By the Gods, what is it?"

"Can't you see it's a wolf?"

The beast lying dead before them was of a monstrous size. A grey she-wolf with lighter flecks lay bloodied in the dirt, a long branch of some sort protruding from her throat. A few yards from the wolf was the body of a stag. One antler appeared to be broken.

"It's a freak." Theon all but spat while they marveled at the size of the wolf

"It's a dire wolf." Ned Stark said and dismounted his horse. Lyon followed suit and strode toward the carcass. He knelt and she stood behind him. Jon, Theon, Robb, and Bran hovered as well.

He reached a hand into the dire wolf's mouth and grasped the branch. With a forceful tug, he dislodged the object, bloodied and not at all a branch. The broken half of the stag's antler had been what killed the wolf, but such a simple reminder of prey and predator irked her. The stag was the sigil of the House Baratheon, and the dire wolf was the sigil of House Stark. An omen, perhaps, or just a coincidence. Regardless, they were all silent when they set eyes upon the antler.

"There are no dire wolves south of the wall." Robb argued.

Jon suddenly knelt at the dire wolf's belly, moving it lightly and revealing the squabble of several pups at the carcass' teats. "Now there are five." He picked one of gray and white scattered fur and held it to Bran. "Do you want to hold it?"

Lyon stepped forward and knelt beside the carcass' belly, reaching a hand in to move the body further. A fifth honey pelt glistened among the four at the belly. "You mean six." She said, reaching a hand in and gently pulling the blond dire wolf pup from its mother's belly. She lifted him up, inspecting the pale coat and glistening blue eyes.

"Well look at that, he looks just like you." Robb chuckled, coming forth to pat the pup on the head.

"Still better looking than you, anyways." She pulled the pup back, becoming satisfied as it cuddled into the warmth of her furs.

The pup Bran held whimpered as he held it. "Where will they go?" He asked. "Their mother's dead."

Plump Rodrick Cassel looked upon the scene with a frown. "They don't belong down here."

Their father stood, unsheathing his sword. Frost suddenly took Lyon's heart and she hugged the pup closer. "Better a quick death. They won't last without their mother."

"Right." Theon's knife came from his sheath and he wrenched the pup out of Bran's hold. "Give it here."

"No!"

Robb scowled at the Greyjoy. "Put away your blade."

"Do as he says, Greyjoy." Lyon's eyes met with Theon's. For a moment there was a silent battle between them.

"I take orders from your father, not either of you."

Her fist clenched around the pup's fur as she pushed him into Robb, releasing her hold to step to Theon.

"Please, father!" Bran begged.

"I'm sorry, Bran."

"It is unwise to slay that which is the sigil of your house. As if the dire wolf and the stag were not ominous enough-"

"There is a dire wolf for each of your children, Lord Stark." Jon, thank the Gods, came to the rescue. "Six pups. They were meant to have them."

Theireyes went to their father, high and hopeful. It was a long silence that they waited in before he finally spoke.

"You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."

She felt relief let her shoulders fall, and even Theon sheathed the blade he held and gave the pup back to Bran. He turned to Leon, eyes narrowed before he let them fall. She sidestepped away as Robb brought two pups into Theon's arms and he began to carry them off.

"What about you?" Bran asked Jon.

"I'm not a Stark." Jon hid his disappointment well. Lyon fell in step beside him as they trudged up the hill, but he stopped suddenly.

"What is it?"

"Sh." He held up a finger, and she fell silent. Then she heard it- the quiet whimpering not three feet from where they were standing. Jon turned to the base of the tree and there, under a pile of leaves, Jon lifted a pure white direwolf pup from the foliage. Its crimson eyes were jarring for only a moment, but the smaller than unusual pup quickly grew on her.

"The runt of the litter. That one's yours, Snow." Theon joked, turning his back to them with a smile and continuing on. Robb followed, but not without a disarming stare sent to Jon.

"Don't worry about them," she said. "Robb was the runt of our litter. Did I ever tell you about that time where he and I snuck out of our rooms at night to put horse dung in Ser Rodrick's shoes? Well, unfortunately for Robb, he didn't have very long legs..."

Jon rolled his eyes at me as Lyon continued on about their shenanigans, all the while their pups huddled close to their warmth. Even as she pulled herself onto Balthasar her pup held fast.

"What will you name him?" Jon came to his horse and peered over at her and the pup. "He seems rather attached."

"Perhaps I will name him Winter." She said, touching the pup's head to look into his frosty blue eyes.

~ ~ ~

Winter sat at the hearth in Lyon's chambers, content with simply sitting with the warmth. Every now and then he would make a gentle noise as he dreamed and one of his legs would kick and he'd yip. Across from him she sat in her chair, book in hand and using the fire as light. She leaned back and let her eyes drift closed, but a knock at her door brought her nap to a quick end.

"Come in." She called. The door creaked open and shut just as quickly. Familiar boots fell across the wooden floors until a shadow fell across the fire. Opening a single eye, she looked up into Theon's face. "Did anyone see you enter?"

"Of course not. They never do." He gently pulled the book from her hand and tossed it on to a table, taking her hands in his and pulling her to stand.

"I highly doubt Theon Greyjoy is so stealthy."

"Have you no faith in me, my lady?"

"I am not your lady." Lyon pulled her hands from his and went to the pitcher of wine at her bedside. She poured a modest goblet, then filled it some more. She took a sip, but by then Theon had crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"My woman, my lover- call yourself what you like, Lyon." His words were whispered and full of lust, but that warmth that she felt before was gone.

"I am not your anything, Theon. And tonight I am very tempted to tell you to leave after what you did today."

"What I- you mean with the pups?" He suddenly pulled away. "I was only doing as your father ordered."

"You were about to slit that pup's throat right before Bran's eyes."

"He saw a man beheaded! What difference is some wolf mutant?"

"There is a great difference between man and animal, Theon. What Bran saw was justice-"

Theon crossed his arms. "You are making a great deal about some pups, Lyon. Listen to yourself. I only did as your father wanted me to."

Her brow shot upward. "Oh? And did my father want you to come in here and fuck me as well?" His face deflated. "I thought not."

She emptied the goblet quickly, not wasting a drop. She set the goblet on the tray a little too loudly, and a jumped at the noise.

"You are acting strangely."

"I know." Lyon murmured. "It's just... don't you find it strange that I haven't been married off to some fat lord by now?"

"I am quite thankful you haven't, actually." Theon chuckled as he sat upon her bed, but she couldn't find it in her to smile.

"I don't look like a Stark, do I? By the Gods, I even look more like a Lannister than a Tully."

His eyes narrowed. "You are Eddard Stark's daughter."

"But how do you know that for certain? They never talk about the day I was born like they do with the others. I fear I may be a bastard." Lyon filled the goblet again, taking a long sip. Theon was silent for some time, but it wasn't until she turned around that she realized he was no longer in her chambers.

Lyon sat calmly upon the bed, and that night she did not sleep until the sun began to rise and all the wine was gone.


	4. Golden

Jon Aryn was dead. A message from a raven had said as much, alongside mention of the King making way to Winterfell. Never had Lyon seen the north in such a hustle to prepare for something so great. Sansa was the most excited, knowing the King and Queen had a supposedly handsome son near to her own age. Of course, she hadn't even met the boy before she was lovestruck. But Sansa was Sansa and she was Lyon's own sister. Lyon learned to love her eccentrics.

"A messenger has arrived saying the King is only a days ride from Winterfell. You must be terribly excited." Lyon said as she worked her fingers through Sansa's hair, pulling the tangles from the auburn locks.

"I can't wait to see the Prince. Oh, and the King of course. And the Queen. I am sure they are lovely." Sansa patted the softness of her dress contentedly.

"And I am sure they will think the same of you. You are a perfect lady, Sansa. So kind and elegant. I am thankful for you, you know."

"Oh, thank you... I am, aren't I? Do you think the prince will like me?"

"Of course. What isn't there to like?"

"You always say that."

Lyon laughed lightly and began pulling Sansa's hair up. "I feel as though I hardly speak to you anymore. I want you to know your worth, just as I want Arya to know her worth."

"How much is she worth compared to me?" She gave a sharp tug on her hair and Sansa grimaced. "Ow!"

"Serves you right! Arya is just as important as you are, even if she is a little different. You should try getting along with her. After all, I'm even stranger and yet you and I get along fine."

"That you know of." Lyon paused her workings and grinned at Sansa in the mirror. Her lip tilted in betrayal of her jest.

"A joke? Maybe you are the strange sister."

"Am not!"

"Quit moving, I don't want a strand out of place. Mother will have my hide if I do." Sansa stilled then, rolling her eyes as Lyon worked in silent laughter. "As I was saying, Arya may be different but I was like her at my age. Some are just drawn to different hobbies."

"Is Theon yours?"

Her hands froze in Sansa's hair, and when she looked into the mirror, Sansa's eyes were downcast. "If you are going to poke your nose around in my business, you best keep it to yourself, little sister. How did you know?"

"Sometimes I... I see him go down the hall to your room. I see how you look at each other."

Slowly, Lyon's hands calmly continued arranging her hair. "I do not love him. And do not be fooled when you are told women don't also desire a man's touch. There is nothing wrong with it but... just don't tell your brothers. They wouldn't understand."

"I'm not sure I understand." She murmured.

"Perhaps you will when you are older."

"What about when you marry?"

"It's not hard to fake maidenhood," Lyon replied numbly. Sansa's hair was almost complete. She worked a little faster.

"How do you know?"

She thought about telling her for a moment, about the night she went to the brothel with Theon, and then the nights she returned there without him. Part of her wanted to tell her, but this secret was her own. What she had learned from those women was for her ears only.

"Men are stupid. It won't be hard to fool the man I marry that I still have my virtue."

"Theon is stupid," Sansa muttered as Lyon secured the final strand of hair.

"That he is, my dear. Now, keep this conversation between you and me only, hmm? A sisterly secret."

"Yes, Lyon. Thank you." She said, standing as she lightly patted her hair and smoothed her dress again. She did look like a lovely lady, much like her dire wolf, Lady, who sat at the foot of her bed watching them quietly. Already the pups had grown so much, it was difficult to imagine they had found them only a month and a half ago.

"Any time, dear sister. I'll see you soon, hmm?" Lyon took her leave just as a knock came at Sansa's door. She didn't need to open the door to know it was their mother, patiently waiting to do Sansa's hair as she liked to do in the mornings. She was in for a surprise then, and as such showed in her eyes when it was Lyon that opened the door.

"Hello, mother." She greeted, plastering on a warm smile. Catelyn seemed taken aback at first. Her pale face warmed, and her dark hair was in its usual fashion. She went to open her mouth, but Lyon intercepted. "I will share a word with you outside."

"Oh, will you now?"

"Yes." She opened the door a little wider, letting her expression fall. Lyon had waited to catch her, but she hadn't had the chance to speak with her own mother in weeks. Each time she went to speak with her she would fall silent, feign fatigue or a busy schedule. Finally, Lyon had caught her.

"After you then." She stepped out of the way and Lyon left the room, closing Sansa's door behind them. Lyon made a point to move far from Sansa's chambers, finding her own suitable for interrogation. When Catelyn entered Lyon closed the door behind her. Winter sat at the fireplace, staring unnervingly into the flames as he did. He too had gotten larger.

"What is this about?"

Lyon spun to face her. "Why am I not married?"

"I did not think you wanted to marry." She seemed surprised, but Lyon shook my head.

"Arya does not want to marry. You've spoken with her and she refused even the prospect of it. Never once have you or father said I was to marry anyone- haven't even mentioned it. And I know you and father well enough to know honor binds you both. So what is so dishonorable about marrying me off that you refuse to even mention it?"

For a moment she did not speak, only blinked frantically with an open mouth. She sputtered when she spoke. "This- this is unfounded blame! I have spoken to you many times about-"

"I shall not mince words then. There is a reason I do not look like a Stark or even a Tully, And there is a reason that whenever I ask about the day I was born you and father fluster and try to find excuses. I ask a simple question, mother. If Jon is my father's bastard, whose bastard am I?"

She spoke no words, nor did she move. That pale face became colder as though all heat was leaving her. That only meant one thing then.

"Thank you for your honesty."

Lyon was out the door before Catelyn could follow her with her eyes. Only when she was down the hall did she realize her heart was pounding like drums, and her nails were so far into her palm that she was drawing blood. For now, it would have to be enough that she knew she wasn't their child. Soon she would figure out who her mother and father were. Soon.

~ ~ ~

Catelyn Stark flew from her eldest daughter's chambers, neck whipping back and forth to look down the halls. She did not run. No, that would betray her distress. Already she looked far too distressed for her own good, so she took a moment to stop and collect her breath. Cat dared not think of how Lyon knew, that would only worry her more.

Soon she found her breath and began her relaxed pace down the hall to her own chambers where her husband lingered over scrolls. Ned Stark hung over his desk as she entered, pulling open the door and sliding it shut behind her.

"Lyon knows. I do not know how she knows, but she knows."

Ned lifted his head. It took only a moment for it to dawn upon him. He and Catelyn stared unblinkingly back at one another.

"Lyon is... a smart girl. She would have figured it out sooner or later."

"She spoke of her birth, and her difference in appearance..."

"A golden Stark... She would have looked at the family trees, I'm sure."

"So what do we tell her, Ned?"

"The truth, Cat." He folded his arms across his lap suddenly. "We tell her the truth."


	5. The King and Queen

"Do you see them, Bran? Tell me what you see!"

"I see the king! He has hundreds of men with him!"

With anxiety pricking the back of her neck Lyon rubbed her palms together, grinning. "Isn't this exciting? The King and Queen will finally be here. In Winterfell!" As though catching to her excitement, Winter gave a sharp bark. Lyon bent to scratch his ears.

"Brandon!" Catelyn Stark's voice howled from several feet away, her heavy footfalls trudging toward them. Lyon kept her eyes down even as Bran descended the stone tower, coming to jump the last remaining feet to land in the dirt.

"I saw the king. He's got hundreds of people!"

Their mother ignored his excitement and pointed a stern glower at him. She had yet to look at Lyon. "How many times must I tell you: No climbing."

"But he's coming right now! Down our road!"

"I want you to promise me. No more climbing."

Bran faltered as the excitement fell from his face, but still, his fingers twitched in anticipation. "I promise..." He said, looking to the dirt as he did.

"Do you know what?" She asked.

"What?"

"You always look at your feet before you lie. Now, go run and find your father. Tell him the King is close."

Like an obedient pup, Bran was off. His dire wolf followed him in a flash of white fur, and then there was just the two standing at the base of the old tower. For the first time in a long time, Lyon lifted her eyes to Catelyn's, and in hers, she saw a look of deep disapproval.

"You shouldn't be encouraging him." She said.

"He's a boy. He'll outgrow it. And besides, it'll make him stronger; tougher."

Her lips tightened as though she still didn't quite approve, but eventually, she released a sigh. "We haven't spoken since that morning. Your father and I want to speak to you too. We would tell you what you want to know."

"Not while the King and Queen are visiting. We wouldn't want them catching word of this situation."

"No," she seemed relieved. "We wouldn't. Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Cat. I'm looking after my own arse." Lyon strode past her with little more acknowledgement to be paid to her, and she knew that wasn't fair. Yet every time she saw her or father, or even thought of them, she couldn't help the feeling of betrayal that soured her. Lyon was no Stark.

Lyon plastered a smile onto her face, hoping no one could see past it. She made her way toward the keep where already most of her family had assembled, save for Arya and Catelyn. However, the ladder came quickly to stand at Edward Stark's side, and Lyon stood opposite of him as the eldest.

"Where's Arya?" Her mother peered around the area, then her eyes fell on Sansa. "Sansa, where's your sister?"

Bannered riders began to spill into Winterfell on great horses. A massive man in a helmet fashioned in the head of a hound rode in upon an even larger horse. Beside him came a blond boy in a royal garment, looking only a little older than Sansa. A bustle came from amid a group of people, and Arya came dashing to us, a soldier helmet upon her head. A grin split Lyon's face as she strode up, and their father took the metal from her head.

"Hey, hey, hey. What're you doing with that on?" He passed the helm aside, though Lyon noticed he was grinning at the young girl in amusement. She shuffled her way in between Bran and Sansa, muttering at him to move before she straightened and peered eagerly at the coming of the King's ensemble.

In rolled a large golden and scarlet coach drawn by two silver steeds in fine harness. It came to a still as the blond boy stopped his horse alongside it, and the massive man followed suit. Following the coach came a great fat man on a black stallion, a thick dark beard covering the lower portion of his face but not hiding the redness tinging his cheeks form overexertion. Lyon raised an eyebrow at him, noting the Baratheon sigil upon his chest and the crown atop his head. So, this is what the King has become? He definitely didn't look like her father had described him.

King Robert hauled himself off his horse and landed on the ground with an audible thump. Lyon risked a glance at her father, who seemed just as surprised as the rest of their family. But as the king strode toward them they all bent the knee and wiped the expressions from their faces, and when his deep gravelly voice told them to rise, they did as such.

"Your Grace," Ned greeted.

The king looked him up and down. "You've got fat."

Ned was silent. It was hard to read the atmosphere as the two stony faced men looked at each other. Finally, Ned looked the king from head to toe and raised a brow. What about you? His expression seemed to say, and this caused the king to caterwaul with great laughter. He leaned into it, turning to Catelyn with a giant smile.

"Cat!" He said, hauling her into a hug that she returned, although much less exuberantly. He released her and looked to Ned. "Nine years. Why haven't I see you? Where the hell have you been?"

Ned smiled wryly. "Guarding the North for you, your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

The King nodded approvingly, but attention was suddenly drawn to the coach behind him. Its door opened as the woman whom Lyon assumed as the Queen descended with three children. Two boys, on girl, and each of them with vibrant golden hair like their mother. For a moment her thoughts went to her own golden hair, tied down in two simple but elegant braids, and she suddenly felt cold.

"You must be the eldest." The king's large form suddenly stepped in front of her. He gave an appraising look, stopping at the hair and quirked a smile. "A beauty, alright. Something tells me you don't get your looks from your father." He added with a wink.

The cold returned, and she could feel her father's agitation next to her. Lyon certainly did not get her looks from him. "Thank the Gods, none of us do." She teased, and the king returned her jest with a great laugh.

"Aye, she's a sharp tongue too!"

Thankfully, he did not linger long and soon moved on to Robb, appeasing him as he had Lyon. He paid compliments as he saw her sisters and young Bran.

"That's Jaime Lannister. The queen's twin brother." She heard Arya whisper to Sansa and soon followed her eyes to the blond Kingsguard, riding a pearly white mount. He removed his helm and short blond hair fell to his shoulders, smooth and supple, and reflecting the golden tones of his armor.

"Would you please-" Lyon didn't listen to Sansa. She looked Jaime Lannister form head to toe, eyeing the pristine armor bearing the Lannister sigil across the chest. She didn't know how long she stared at it for, but when she looked to his face again his eyes were upon her. Returning the gaze, she nodded in greeting before turning to the Queen as she approached.

"My Queen," both Lady and Lord of Winterfell greeted.

She hardly had a moment to respond before her husband spoke. "Take me to the crypts."

"We've been riding a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." Queen Cersei said, pursing her lips in displeasure as, even after she spoke, he paid her no mind.

"Ned," was all he said.

Humiliated, Cersei turned away and strode toward her twin. She spoke quickly to him, and he quickly dismounted his steed and was off elsewhere. Lyon watched him go for only a brief moment before looking away, and looking to her family.

"Lyon, take your sisters and brothers inside."

"Of course, father." She curtsied, spreading an arm wide as she gathered her siblings and began ushering them toward the Keep. Jon lingered, but she quickly pulled him with her. "You too."

~ ~ ~

"Why take King Robert to the crypts?" Arya pestered, even as Lyon worked her hands through the younger's hair. Usually, she'd complain or something of the like, but now she was filled with curiosity. Lyon rolled her eyes as, from behind her, Robb chuckled at the edge of the room. Here they had gathered before the feast that evening. It was nice having her family all around again.

"That is where father's sister, Lyanna Stark lies." Lyon said, fixing the mess Arya had made her hair into. "Before he was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms, he was enamored with her. But she passed away. I assume he went to pay his respects and speak privately with father."

"How did she die?" Arya asked.

"I'm... not entirely sure."

"Rhaegar killed her, I think." Robb said, and Jon made a noncommittal noise.

"Likely." Lyon returned. "But do not speak about it while the king and queen are here. She did not seem overjoyed with her husband completely disregarding her before. And for goodness sakes, do not keep calling the Lannister brother 'the imp'. It's rude. Refer to him as Tyrion Lannister, Arya."

"You sound like our mother." Robb chuckled as Lyon secured the last piece of Arya's hair. She stepped back and folded her arms.

"Well, good! There's no need at all to be rude to the Lannister family. I'm sure they're fine people, if somewhat different than us northerners."

"Jaime Lannister put a knife in the Mad King's back. You call that 'fine people', Lyon?"

She sighed, sitting in an armchair. "No, he did what was best. Everyone called Aerys Targaryen the Mad King, not just the rebels. The Targaryen king would have set the entire world on fire. It was a necessary deed."

Robb's brow furrowed in disapproval. "There's no honor in putting a knife in a man's back."

"There's little honor in anything these days." She rolled her eyes and slumped forward, feeling her energy fail suddenly. Winter came to her feet and curled up next to them, a comforting gesture.

"Are you alright? You've been acting strange recently." Jon sat in the armchair across from her, leaning forward, hands clasped. She grimaced.

"I'm fine, Jon. Just tired."

"I've noticed to. You haven't even been speaking with mother or father." Sansa added, sitting at the edge of Lyon's bed with Lady, collar and leash attached.

"We've had a bit of a falling out is all. Things will be back to normal in no time, I promise you. Anyways, we'd best be off. Mother can do your hair, Sansa. The banquet will start soon, I'm sure." Eager to leave the conversation, she made for the door, her siblings following quietly. It was unnerving, their judgmental silence. Lyon led them down the halls to the banquet room, where already the noise of celebration and joviality could be heard. Candles hung from the ceilings in great numbers, and sconces hung upon the walls. Banners were lifted to represent both Starks and Baratheons. Food was splayed upon the tables; large roasts of pheasant, chicken, beef, and deer. Potatoes were roasted, boiled, and mashed and vegetables were fried in decadent spices that wafted through the room. Lyon inhaled heavily, exhaling as her stomach audibly grumbled.

"You lot go, have fun. Mingle." She waved them off and took her leave of the group. She went to the table at the head of the room where her father sat and watched the festivities, Robert next to him. It was not long before her mother, Sansa, and Cersei came into the room and took their seats at the table, although Sansa moved to sit at a separate table with her siblings. Lyon strode up to her father's table, and curtsied with a warm smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet your Graces. It's a merry time in Winterfell with your arrival. It may not be as merry or warm as King's Landing this time of year but we are all thankful for your presence, all the same." She found her father smiling appreciatively at the gesture. The King, however, seemed as though he had drunk enough to misinterpret what any lady might say, so before he could get a word in, she turned to the Queen. "If there is anything you would wish to see in Winterfell, I would gladly volunteer. It would be an honor."

"Thank you, my dear." She said, quick and curt. "I am much enjoying the country, and I would very much enjoy your company."

"Thank you, your Grace."

"In fact, I would very much enjoy some air. Would you walk with me?" Even as she spoke, she rose from her seat. Lyon nodded graciously and, side by side with the queen, they left the banquet hall.


	6. We Few Bastards

Cersei was quiet as they exited the mess hall. Her steps seemed calm and cool, far too collected for someone who had been enjoying the boisterous crowd within. And despite her bare arms and the frigid night, she did not shudder at the cold as even the King's guard had. And her reaction to her husband's infidelities was as collected as could be- after all she must've gone through Lyon imagined she was a no-nonsense woman.

"I admire you, your Grace."

"Oh," she turned only partially to view her. "And why is that?"

"You must have gone through much as Queen. It is a responsibility many would crumble under, with all that it entails."

"You speak of my husband's... hobbies, don't you?"

"I hint at it, your Grace. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I am rather forward."

"No, do not apologize. I have seen you, you know." She said, coming to stop at a wall where she sat. Lyon seated herself next to her, folding her hands over her lap. "You are very watchful of your siblings. I see myself in you in the way I protect my children."

"I would kill for them in order to keep them safe."

"But would you lie and manipulate them to keep them safe?"

Lyon paused for a moment, then found the queen's eyes watching her. Unblinking, Lyon stared back at her. "Of course I would. This family speaks highly of honor and self-sacrifice, but what use is it if it gets you killed? I will do what I must to ensure survival. Thankfully, things are simple in the north."

"I would like to see you in the south. It would suit you well. You would blossom in King's Landing." As she spoke she lifted a hand and ran it through Lyon's hair, eyeing it closely yet seeming uninterested at the same time.

"It is a place I would very much enjoy to visit, your Grace."

"You may just. The King has made a proposition to your father, inviting him to be his Hand."

Lyon found herself frowning. "Father did not tell me this."

"No? Perhaps he does not mean to take you with him, although I do believe he plans to marry your sister Sansa to my son, Joffrey."

Lyon tried to retain composure. "She speaks highly of him, your Grace. He seems like a charming young man, and I would be quite honored to have him as my brother-in-law."

"Yes, well, all that aside I do believe your future is in King's Landing. I would abhor it if you were kept from seeing the world, such a bright young girl as yourself should experience different locale." Cersei's eyes glimmered. "You have a bright future."

"Thank you, your grace. That is very kind of you."

"Hm. No need to thank me. Now, I find myself catching a chill. Will you accompany me back inside?"

"With your permission, your grace, I would like to stay here a little longer. I will gladly return to the festivities in a few short minutes." Lyon smiled and rose as she did, curtsying as she returned indoors. Alone, Luon breathed a deep sigh and looked to the stars and sky, twinkling above. Now her bare arms felt the chill of the night, but it was a feeling she was very used to and had grown to enjoy as a comfort.

She closed her eyes as the breeze picked up and caused moisture to come forth from her eyes. Unseen footfalls sounded in the snow, crunching as someone came from behind. Her eyes sprung open and she turned, finding herself looking down at the only man that could possibly be Tyrion Lannister.

~ ~ ~

He looked up at the golden-haired beauty standing in the moonlight, a forest green dress trimmed in gold spilling past her ankles. Her rosy skin glistened with the moon, and as she turned, he met the almond eyes several shades greener than the dress.

"You must be Tyrion Lannister. It's a pleasure to meet you." She curtsied without missing a single beat, a smile so warm it could melt snow gleaming down upon him. It was not scathing, not like he was used to. "Have you been inside yet, my lord?"

"I have. Quite a party. Our hosts are very gracious."

Her lip tilted upward as she sat upon one of the low stone walls. "The Lord of Winterfell would be honored by such a compliment, no doubt."

"Would he? I didn't know getting a compliment from an imp was such an "honor", as you put it." He leaned against the wall next to her, finding himself smiling as the girl smirked.

"I'm sure he would see himself getting a compliment from a Lannister- and one who knows how to have a good time, from what I hear."

"Oh? And what do you hear about this Lannister?"

"Only good things, my Lord." She said, leaning slightly toward him. He enjoyed the heat he felt radiating from her like a warm fireplace. "I hear he enjoys wine, fancies reading, and has a clever tongue- in more ways than one."

"And what are your thoughts on these... hobbies?" She purses her pink lips, as pink as her rosy cheeks, and crossed her ankles.

"I would think... I quite prefer red wine myself, especially in abundance. Perhaps I would dare to ask which genre he preferred, as I often find myself reading historical events myself. And I'm afraid I've only used my tongue to speak, my Lord, although I find myself rather open-minded." She flashed him a flirty wink and stood. "I do hope you find our brothel caters to your needs. I hear only good things."

Tyrion watched as she went to walk away, perplexed as the young lady practically bounced toward the festivities.

That was when he remembered he hadn't caught one important detail.

"Wait! What is your name?"

She threw her head back, a great melodious laugh came from her. "It doesn't matter!"

And she was gone, and Tyrion was suddenly determined to find that firebrand again.

\- - -

"And just where were you?" Robb asked as Lyon shuffled back inside.

"Out. Getting fresh air and whatnot." She took her seat at the table and found Arya nursing two plates across from her. One of them was Lyon's.

"I saw you leave with the queen. When she returned I was afraid you wouldn't." Robb took his seat next to Lyon.

Shaking her head, Lyon pulled her plate back to her despite a scathing look from Arya. "I'm sure if a member of the royal family was going to assassinate me they'd go about it with a bit more discretion." This brought Robb to smile. "Besides, I quite like the queen. She's a smart woman, strong."

"Be that as it may, I do not trust her."

"How rude." She said, taking the goblet of wine before her and emptying it in two fleeting sips. She filled it again and proceeded to watch as Sansa rose from the table and moved to their father's, coming to stand before the queen.

Cersei retained a tense look of emotional collection throughout the encounter, but Lyon could not see Sansa's expression. Lyon did her best to keep her eyes cast downward until a furry form brushed past her leg and she looked below the table.

Winter sat, big green eyes doe-like as they stared up at her. "Winter..." She began, but a voice from behind her made her stop.

"Little bugger swept past me as soon as I opened the door. 'Fraid I couldn't stop him."

"Uncle Benjen." As Lyon turned she saw his familiar face come into view. The Stark countenance, dark hair, and fair complexion, although Benjen was a rugged man. Having serving in the Night's Watch she expected nothing less.

"It is good to see you, Lyon." As she stood his arms wrapped around her, and she returned the warm embrace.

"You as well, uncle. How is the wall? Bleak, I assume."

"It has it's merits, though few and far in between." He joked and cracked a faint grin. "I saw Jon outside, sparring with a doll."

"I was wondering why I didn't see him. I'll have to go and see what he's doing." Or rather how, she thought grimly. She hated when Jon distanced himself like this. "We'll catch up, hmm?"

Benjen's brow furrowed as she withdrew and went past him. "Lyon... Are you well?"

Lyon found herself pursing my lips. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Only out of concern. You have always looked very closely after your brothers and sisters. I fear you must continue to do so, especially in the company of these Lannisters." His hand rose to squeeze her shoulder. "Keep at your training, child. You may need it."

"Of course, uncle." She bowed her head and he released her shoulder. Lyon swept out of the mess hall, her feet carrying her tirelessly to the sparring ground. Almost immediately he heard the sound of a sword hitting against a training dummy, each strike in rapid succession. When she saw Jon he was moving at a furious speed, angrily pummeling the dummy. She sat herself against one of the walls and watched.

"You aren't inside."

"Neither are you." She replied. His strikes slowed until they stopped altogether. Jon lowered his sword and turned to her.

"Uncle Benjen-"

"I know. He told me you were out here. I've come to invite you inside."

Jon frowned. "Lady Stark asked me not to show."

"And you didn't think to tell me? I could have spoken with her, convinced her otherwise."

"Seeing as neither of you have been on speaking terms, I've come to doubt that. I do not wish to make matters between you two worse." Jon sheathed the blade and came to sit next to Lyon. "What- never mind."

Several minutes passed in silence. Lyon saw Jon as he was, Stark. A bastard they called him, but at least he had Stark blood in him. Herself? Who knew what blood flowed through Lyon's veins? And who would understand my situation better than Jon?

"Ask the question, Jon." Her voice came out harsher than intended, causing him to turn his head to face her.

"Alright. Why do you quarrel with Lord and Lady Stark?"

Her fingers clenched and unclenched, nails finding purchase in the soft lines in her palms. Her eyes surveyed the clearing, finding no one within view. She dropped her voice. "I am not their child."

Jon made as though to laugh, but the mirth died shortly. Lyon kept her eyes down but did not feel shame. Not as she had expected. "You can't be serious. How could you know?"

"Do I look like a Stark to you? No, I thought not. I have looked at the books recounting the birth of every Stark child. My birth is not recorded. I confronted mot- Lady Stark, and she did not try to prove me wrong." She lifted her chin and looked at Jon now. "You are more of a Stark than I. You should be in there enjoying yourself, not me."

He said nothing.

"I'm so sorry life has dealt you this hand while I'm not even a Stark. Gods, you must loathe me." She buried her face in her hands. The unfamiliar sting of tears hit suddenly, and quick sobs hit in quicker succession than Jon's sword strikes.

"Lyon?" Jon murmured. She felt a hand come to her shoulder, then an entire arm wrapped around and held her. He held on tightly, and his other hand went to her hair. She cried harder and realized it had been years since she'd done this: cry in someone's arms. Only the last time it had been her father holding her.

"I do not loathe you. I think you are more my sister now than you've ever been."


	7. The Fall

"Where is he? Where is my brother?" Lyon's call rang through Winterfell. "Now! Where is Brandon Stark?"

A guard whose face she did not recognize stopped before her as he walked. "The Maester has taken him to his rooms, my lady."

"Thank you, ser." With a flourish of her robes, she pivoted and ricocheted toward the keep, dress billowing behind her. Her feet carried her past faces she paid no mind to until she was at the door to Bran's room. All was silent in the halls, but within she could hear murmuring. Winter was at Lyon's knees, looking up at his master in wait. With a bracing inhale, Lyon opened the door and strode inside.

She saw Catelyn Stark first, pale of face and streaked with tears. "How is he faring?"

"He still sleeps. We do not know if he will awaken." Lady Stark spoke in broken words, voice cracking over syllables. She tried as she may to retain composure, but her eyes were wet and red and had been as such since they had found Bran.

"Robb told me what happened. Forgive, I was not there sooner. I had no idea-"

"It wasn't your fault, Lyon. It was no one's fault."

Lyon lowered her eyes. "Of course. May I-" she gestured to the bed in which Bran lay, and Catelyn nodded faintly. Lyon stepped to the edge of the bed and knelt, taking her brother's hand in hers. "I... I will make sure to keep Rickon company while you rest, little brother."

Lyon leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss upon Bran's hand before rising and smoothing her skirts. She went for the door, to leave quickly and find her youngest sibling, but she stopped with a hand upon the handle.

"All that matters now is that he recovers, mother. We best not trouble our minds with anything else."

Lady Catelyn's eyes rose to meet her daughter's, and a sudden silent agreement was struck. She nodded wordlessly and returned her attention to her son as Lyon stepped outside and silently closed the door behind her. With a deep breath, she made her way back down the halls of the keep. She went to walk to her rooms, but once she opened them she was taken aback to find her father sitting at the edge of the bed.

"How is he...?"

Lyon felt her muscles become lax. Her feet carried her to her bed and she sat beside Ned Stark. "He has not yet awoken, but I am sure he will."

"We can only pray."

Lyon rose, moving to the fresh pitcher of wine she spotted in the corner of her eye. "Hm, never was one for praying. But if it heals Bran then I shall devout every waking moment to prayer."

Ned Stark shook his head. "Pray as you pack your bags. You're leaving with me and your sisters on the morrow." Lyon's hand paused as she poured the wine. "Lyon I do not wish to quarrel-"

"I know, and we shan't. For Bran's sake; for the sake of this family we shall forget what we know for the time being."

"You would do that?"

"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for this family." She set the pitcher down and took goblet in hand, tipping it against her lips. The wine was sweet and stained her pink lips a berry red. "I don't need to know whose daughter I am right now. You were the man who raised me, that means you are my father. However, as I am not yours or my mother's child, I find Jon's treatment by her very unfair."

"It is not-"

"Up for debate? It should be. Unless he isn't your son either." Lyon had said it flippantly with a swig of wine and a grim smirk, but when she turned to look at her father she found herself with chills. "By the Gods, he's not, is he? We will say no more of this matter. You neither confirmed nor denied it. I will pack, and we will not speak until the morrow. Do visit Bran, hmm? Mother would want to see you."

Ned rose to his feet and hurried toward the door, altogether ready to leave his daughter's company. However, he stopped a foot short. "Is that a command, daughter?"

Lyon touched the goblet lightly, lips pursing and pulling into a smile shrouded with grim thought. "I give them more than would occur to you, father. I beg your pardon, but those who hear them usually listen."

Ned barked a short, stony laugh, and was out the door, leaving Lyon with her pitched of wine and another empty goblet.

\- - -

"The wall? Are you nuts, Jon? You'll catch your death out there!"

"I thought you said you were supportive of my life choices."

Lyon rolled her eyes as she and Jon strode toward Winterfell's blacksmith. The column of smoke rose tall over Winterfell, as constant as the sky above.

"I am, but I never thought you'd choose the wall. You know what that means, right? No wife or children, constant cold and your betters will look down on you."

"And how do you know so much about the wall and all it entails?" Jon inquired, stepping up to the open arch of the blacksmith. The open forge spread heat and softened the earth with its warmth.

"I do have ears, and I follow up on my sources."

"Of course you do." He shook his head, chuckling and earning a disapproving look from Lyon.

"You don't believe me? I am a woman of method intelligence!"

"I believe you. You are far too careful, you know. As though someone is at your back, constantly listening."

Lyon quirked a brow, and then grinned as she tapped a temple. "The Gods are always listening, Jon."

Eyes to the sky, Jon shook his head and approached the smithy working steadily upon a blade. "Jon! Ah, you've come for that little blade, have ye?" The smith asked, then spotted Lyon. "And Lady Lyon! Ah, the blade you've requested as well is finished. Give me a moment? I'll have 'em out in only a moment."

He left, leaving Jon and Lyon staring at each other.

"You had a blade made?" Jon tilted his head with a disbelieving smile.

"I told him it was a gift for Robb. It's not."

"Fair enough."

"Won't you tell me of yours?"

"It's Arya's. I told him it was a gift as well."

Lyon purses her lips and nodded in approval. "Arya will like that. I'll spar with her along the Kingsroad, I think."

"She'll definitely like that," Jon said, grinning just as the blacksmith emerged from within with two packages in hand. The smaller he handed to Jon, while a long shape he held to Lyon. She took the blade by the hilt and pulled it from its sheath, revealing a long steel blade three feet in length with a pearly pommel and leather-wrapped hilt. She eyed the edges and the make appraisingly, finally coming to grin at the blacksmith.

"Robb will greatly appreciate this gift. Thank you."

The blacksmith nodded his appreciation and Jon took the other blade and its sheath. The blade was similar in length, yet much thinner. Needle-like, she thought.

"A sword for the wall?" A voice behind them interrupted.

Lyon took the sheath for her blade and hid the steel within, turning to find Jaime Lannister approaching her and Jon.

"I already have one." Her brother said and lowered the blade from inspection.

"Good man. Have you swung it yet?" Jaime cocked his head, and Lyon swore she caught his eye trailing from her head to her feet.

"Of course I have."

"At someone, I mean. It's a strange thing, the first time you cut a man." Jaime began, eyes narrowing upon Jon, and then finding Lyon as a smile grew upon his lip. "You realize we're nothing but a sack of meat and blood and some bone to keep it all standing. Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all against the perils beyond the Wall... Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot. We're grateful to have good, strong men like you protecting us."

"We've guarded the kingdoms for eight thousand years," Jon said, the tension growing between them.

"Is it "we" already? Have you taken your vows then?"

"Soon enough."

"Give my regards to the Night's Watch. I'm sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not, It's only for life." Jaime sent him a grin, to which Lyon felt herself tightening her grip upon her own blade. Of course, Jaime took note of this and turned to her. "I had no idea they were accepting women as well."

Lyon kept her gaze straight ahead at the Kingslayer, finding his eyes and staring a bit too long for his own comfort. She saw a limb twitch, and she smiled. "I would not expect you to remember me, after all, we have not been formally introduced. I am Lyon Stark, your gracious host." She paused and Jaime's face gradually fell in realization. Lyon smiled widely. "The Kingslayer may kneel, or thank me, or apologize. Hm, no? Then my brother and I shall find sharper company." At this she inspected the blade sheathed in her hand and strode off, Jon following fast behind.

"You are very good at that," Jon said.

Lyon eyed him in faux puzzlement. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Jon."

"Of course you don't."


	8. The Kingsroad

Lyon sat upon Balthasar, Winter at the horse's knees. Her new blade laid hidden within the saddlebags but of course, it remained in her reach for quick withdrawal if need be. She was content upon the back of her horse, dressed in trousers and a dress-like tunic that fell to her calves. Unlike Sansa, she had no desire to ride in a carriage but instead preferred to see the world go past.

"Lyon, we are leaving." Her father called to her from Winterfell's gates, and with a quick nudge, Balthasar galloped up to the king's new Hand and rose alongside him.

"I'm excited to see Kingslanding."

"You and Sansa both." He said, then a little quieter he spoke again. "You were born in Kingslanding, you know."

Lyon continued along as the Kingsguard and men of Winterfell continued onward. She spotted a dozen or more men of the Night's Watch proceed among them. "Was I now? I thought we agreed not to speak of this matter."

"Not directly, of course. I see no harm in the little things."

"The greatest fires can start from only coals, father."

"Hmm." She murmured and fell silent, but all the same, Lyon looked to him in appreciation and receiving that look, a smile grew upon his face.

"I'm going to ride along with Jon. Gods know when I'll see him again." Her father nodded her off as she pushed Balthasar forward, approaching the bunch of men associated with the Night's Watch. Among them, her eyes found Jon, shroud in black. "Don't you look ominous."

Her remark caught Jon out of the blue, and he looked at her own attire. "And you look... like summer."

"Mine was a compliment also." She said, a grin pulling her face into a bright beam. "I'm very proud of you, you know. Going to the Night's Watch with Uncle Benjen. I'm happy that you're making your own way."

"I only hope it won't be a mistake." He said, a faint smile fading.

"It won't be a mistake. You tend to make the best of situations, Jon. You make things work for you, and you will in the Night's Watch. I'm sure you'll make friends."

"I wouldn't call them 'friends'." Jon murmured, letting his eyes wander to a smaller figure upon a horse, marching in between the Night's Watch and those off the Kingslanding.

"You've spoken with Tyrion Lannister? Is he to take the Black?"

Jon shook his head. "No, he only wishes to see the Wall. Amongst other things."

A smirk quirked Lyon's lip. "I quite like Tyrion. He's clever. Very smart man."

"You've had the pleasure of meeting him then?"

"On very fair terms, in fact. I quite think he believed me to be a handmaiden."

Jon raised an eyebrow and turned to his sister. "Do you enjoy confusing people, or is that just how you are?"

She shrugged. "A little bit of both, I think."

"Amazing."

"Thank you kindly," Lyon said, then suddenly she grinned and gestured ahead. "Speak of the devil."

Tyrion Lannister had peered over his shoulder to catch Jon and Lyon in a jovial discussion. Seeing the girl, a gleam lit his eye and he steered his steed toward them.

"Ah, and here I find the nameless lady." He greeted her with a quirky smile, and she dipped her head in acknowledgment.

"Greetings, my lord. Lovely day for a ride, is it not?"

Jon watched the exchange between the two, raising an eyebrow as he caught his sister's mischievous eye.

Tyrion purses his lip and looked to the sky. "I suppose so. However, I find myself horribly parched."

Lyon did not reply as she reached into her saddlebag and retrieved a full wineskin within. Both Jon and Tyrion watched in bemusement as she first took a deep drink of it herself, and then handed it off to Tyrion.

"Well, you're prepared." He murmured, taking a drink himself before handing it back. Lyon passed it to Jon, and with a fair laugh, he drank as well and returned the wineskin to Lyon.

"I think it is very good to be prepared. You never know when you're going to need a drink."

"That-" Tyrion watched her with a grin. "Is very true. Finally, someone who sees it my way."

Lyon laughed and drank again. Her eyes found the fork in the road ahead- the path that would separate her from Jon for who knew how long. She looked to her brother with a grim smile as a horse came up behind them bearing Ned Stark. Lyon dipped her head and galloped ahead several paces, stopping at the fork in the path, Tyrion beside her as her father and Jon spoke.

"So you're off to the wall, my lord?"

"Ah yes. I have wanted to investigate for some time now. See why the freezing cold and cots of cow shit is so much preferable to death."

"Ah. I wasn't aware they could do that with cow shit. Best warn Jon before he takes the Black." She said with a grin and gestured to Jon.

"Ah yes, Jon Snow. I had no idea the two of you were acquainted. Saying farewell to your lover before he's condemned to abstinence?" Tyrion asked, peering sneakily at Lyon's expression as she watched Ned Stark and Jon as the two approached her and Tyrion.

"Lover? Gods no." Lyon laughed aloud.

"You laugh, yet I'm sure many women would enjoy Lord Stark's bastard." Tyrion peered again at her, yet this time she was watching him with a raised brow. He gave her a look as though to ask "what?" before Ned and Jon stopped before them. Instantly she dismounted, as did Jon, and the two embraced tightly.

"Take care of yourself, brother. I would hate to have to make the journey to the wall to tell the men of the Night's Watch to behave themselves." She withdrew, holding her brother at arm's length.

"And you as well, sister. And you won't have to. And please don't try." She smirked at his expression, eyes narrowed as though truly believing her. They released each other and swept themselves back onto their horses.

"Brother?" Tyrion's whisper of surprise met only Lyon's ears, and her wide grin nearly reached both.

"Lyon, go check on your sisters. Make sure Arya behaves with Sansa." Eddard said to her, and she nodded in acquiescence. She felt Tyrion's gaze on her back as she took Balthasar's reigns, and her father rode ahead of her.

"You're a Stark?" Tyrion asked, mouth partially agape as he stared at her, adorned in men's trousers and on horseback, as good a rider as the men beside her.

"It was nice meeting you as well, Tyrion Lannister. I do hope we meet again soon." She lifted her wineskin as though to drink, but then tossed it to him as she retreated. He caught it in his lap and watched her arse as it hit the saddle with each gallop, shaking his head.

"Stop staring at my sister," Jon muttered, riding past. Tyrion himself almost laughed at the situation before riding after the Night's Watch.

\- - -

"Come on, we'd best stretch our legs." Lyon rose as the carriage came to a stop, and the door swung open. One of the soldiers held it open and extended a hand to her, and she took it with her gracious smile. Sansa and Arya soon followed, and they trailed behind their sister as she led the way to the tree-line. Three dire wolves followed them, ears cocked at the noise of men around them.

"Will we be safe, Lyon?" Sansa asked as she stepped a little closer to her eldest sister, who looped her arm through hers.

"Of course. All these soldiers and knights are here to protect us Starks and the royal family. You've nothing to fear." Lyon ran a hand through Sanaa's auburn hair, planting a chaste kiss upon it before turning to see Arya. However when she turned around the youngest Stark girl was nowhere to be found, and neither was her dire wolf. "For the love of- Sansa, perhaps you should go find Joffrey, hmm? I need to make sure Arya isn't stirring up trouble."

"Oh, okay. I shall see if I can find him." Though timid, Sansa agreed. Lyon laid a comforting hand up her shoulder, then spun with a flourish of her tunic and took off with Winter at her heels. She looked to the trees, finding the leaves and the twigs disturbed and set off through the roughage where she heard the familiar sound of sparring.

When she emerged she found herself next to running water and inside a clearing. There she found Arya and a red-haired boy with freckles play fighting with wooden swords. She watched as they laughed and dodged past each other, and was briefly reminded of her and her brother Robb.

"You'll never win a fight swinging like that." Lyon finally strode forth from the shadows, and the boy suddenly froze and dropped his blade.

"I-I'm sorry, my lady-"

Lyon waved the boy off. "Don't worry, I'll not tell. I played with swords since I could fight with my brother. I was thinking of starting to show her anyway." Lyon grinned at Arya and sat in the grass, folding her legs. Her little sister smirked back at her, then gestured for her sparring partner to pick up the wooden stick. With Lyon watching they began to fight again, and every now and then she'd call out to fix their stance or attack, and soon their parries and swings came faster.

"I'll get you!" The boy, whom Lyon learned was named Mycah, swung at Arya again. She moved to parry, and that was when Lyon heard Sansa.

"Ayra!" She emerged from the trees with Joffrey, a wineskin in her hand.

Arya paused and spun on her heel to view Sansa. Immediately Mycah froze as the blond son of the king and Sansa came into sight.

"What're you doing here? Go away!" Arya poured, sword still clutched in her hands.

"Arya, be nice," Lyon warned, rising to her feet.

"Your sister?" Joffrey, with a cruel glint in his eye, began taking closer steps to Mycah. "And who are you, boy?"

"Mycah, my lord."

Sansa watched with a frown. "He's the butcher's boy."

"He's my friend." Arya retorted.

Joffrey' hand braced against the hilt of his sword. "A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, eh? Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are."

Lyon's own hand went as though to grasp a hilt at her hip, but the space she went for was empty of a blade. Instead, she clenched her fists and stepped up to the prince, a foot firmly between him and Mycah. "My Prince..."

"She asked me too, my Lord. She asked me too!" Mycah took a step back, his sword had already fallen to the ground.

"I'm your prince, not your lord. And you-" Joffrey looked up to meet Lyon's stony eyes. "Step back, I'd hate to injure my lady's sister."

"You wouldn't. Believe me, little prince. Now step away from the boy and join my sister, else I tell your mother and father you were antagonizing my sisters and picking fights with wolves."

Joffrey's eyes had been ignited with cruel mischief, but now they widened. Lyon could see the unbridled fury in his eyes; the fury of a boy child. Suddenly Winter began to growl, slobber dripping from his maw as he stepped up to Lyon's side. He had grown taller and larger, enough so that Joffrey took a step back.

"You bitch!" There was a snick of steel as Joffrey's sword came from its leather sheath, and held it to the dire wolf, whose snarls grew in volume.

"Joffrey, no!" Sansa called, just as another wolf suddenly leaped forward at the prince and wrapped his forearm in sharp canine teeth. The boy let out a terrible yelp and fell to the ground, and the dire wolf Nymeria released his forearm. Arya stood only for a moment before calling to her wolf, and the two took off running into the bushes. Mycah, following suit, took off in another direction.

"My prince, my poor prince!" Sansa lunged forward to kneel at Joffrey's side. "Look what they did to you. "Stay here, I'll go and bring back help."

"Then go! Don't touch me!" He screamed, shoving her away as he cradled his wounded arm. Sansa took off running until only Winter and Lyon remained with the wounded prince.

She stared down at him, no pity in her eyes as she stepped to where he dropped his sword upon the earth. Lyon picked it up, surveyed the steel and its make.

"You won't talk to my sister like that again, you hear me, boy? You aren't the only one who knows how to wield a blade, and I guarantee I do it much better." With a flourish, she twirled the blade in her hand and stuck it in the dirt. There she crouched and looked Joffrey in the eyes. "We Starks tend to bite. You'd best remember that in the future, and we may yet get along. Be a good boy and we'll get along."

The sound of hooves coming closer stirred her to stand and look toward the sound of hooves. Baratheon and Stark men came in on foot and on horseback.

"Prince Joffrey is right over there." She pointed to where he lay.

"Where are the Stark girl and the boy?"

"I don't know, they took off running when the prince drew his sword."

The Baratheon man that posed the question took off toward Joffrey, leaving Lyon with Stark men.

"Lady Lyon, we'd best return you to your father. He'll want you and Lady Sansa safe while he searches for your sister." One of them said.

Lyon released a short bark of laughter. "I think not. I'm going to get my horse, and then I'm going to find my sister." She strode past the men with Winter at her heels. Soon she was running, and when she was upon Balthasar she took off like the wind into the trees.


	9. Nymeria

"My lord! My lord! They found her. She's unharmed." Jory Cassel came running up to Ned and Lyon Stark. His face became lit by the light of Lyon's torch as he marched up.

"Where is she?" Ned asked, brow drawing downward. Already he and Lyon marched after Jory as he led them back through the trees.

"She's been taken directly before the king," Jody told them.

Lyon cursed under her breath. "Gods damn it all. By whom?"

"The Lannisters, my lady. The Queen ordered her to bring them straight to the king."

Lyon and Ned exchanged a look of horror. Immediately she was calling through the woods. "Bring me my horse! Get me Balthasar!"

"Back! Back to the inn. All back!" Ned called, mounting his horse while Lyon rose upon Balthasar and the two sped off toward the inn.

Lyon reached the congregation and immediately dismounted her horse. Guards at the door stepped back as she pushed through the doors, and as soon as her eyes were upon Arya she was striding toward her and enveloping her in her embrace.

"Seven hells, Arya. Never make me worry like that again."

The younger girl clutched her sister's tunic, nodding into the leather. Arya peered over Lyon's shoulder and their father entered the hall, and soon she was in his arms.

"I'm sorry," Arya murmured.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

Ned Stark pulled himself away from Arya but held her to his hip. Lyon went to stand at his side. "What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?"

Lyon looked ahead to where Robert Baratheon sat, and next to him was his queen, who coddled their injured son. Joffrey met Lyon's eyes, and she returned his look with a glower before spotting a pale-faced Sansa.

The queen scowled at Ned. "How dare you speak to your King in that manner?"

"Quiet woman!" The king barked. "Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get this business done quickly."

"Your girl butcher's boy attacked my son. That animal of hers nearly tore my son's arm off."

"Your son drew his blade on me. Had Arya's dire wolf not attacked then I would be lying dead in that clearing. Had he completed the withdrawal of his blade then my belly would have been split open."

The room fell silent as Lyon spoke. They watched as her hand went as though subconsciously to her belly. Her hand rattled but she clenched it as though to still it.

"Is this true, boy?" The King posed the question to his son.

"Of course it isn't. She's lying!"

"Your grace, since I was a child I have been taught not to lie. I was raised by my mother and father, who devoutly follow honor above all else. To doubt this truth is to question their teachings as well." Lyon spoke with her head bowed.

"Joffrey told us your sister and that boy attacked him. Are you calling my son a liar?"

Lyon straightened and raised her eyebrows at the blond prince. He cowered under her gaze, and this the queen and king saw. What they saw were shame and guilt, but Lyon saw the fear behind his eyes. It almost caused her to smile, but she kept her wits about her and continued to feign innocence.

"Prince Joffrey, let us put this all behind us. Please. I am ever so eager for you to wed my sister and I fear that our own friendship will suffer if this is not soon put behind us. It was an accident, and Nymeria would not have attacked had you not drawn your sword. It was all an unfortunate accident." Her green eyes glistened with moisture and the light of torches. Her act was good, genuine. Cersei watched the girl and gripped her armchair.

"I-it was an accident." Joffrey finally murmured.

"By the Gods, boy." The King grimaced and dropped his head into his hands. "Give me your sword. When you learn how to properly handle it then you shall have it returned. Until then I don't want you accidentally cutting open Stark girls!"

Joffrey's blade was yielded to his father, and he quickly shooed his son off for the night, bidding the queen to take him to prevent any more 'accidents'.

"And what of the dire wolf? What of the beast that savaged your son?" She pressed.

"You heard the girl! The beast was protecting her and had it not she'd be dead. I don't think Ned will want any harm to befall his daughter's savior." The king huffed and rose from his chair. "And that's all I'll hear of that." He left the inn with his wife sitting with displeasure etched upon her face.

Lyon beckoned for Sansa to come forward, and pulled her auburn haired sibling to her side, ushering her and Arya out of the inn. Lady and Winter were outside waiting for them, and when Lyon beckoned for the wolves to follow, they did. Soon she had led her sisters out of earshot, and their father was quick to join them.

"You lied..." Sansa murmured.

"For you, for Arya, and for our wolves," Lyon replied, meeting her father's eyes. "That prince is dangerous, but he's scared of me. Hopefully, he will continue to be."

"He is the prince. When he is king he won't be scared of you, Lyon." Ned frowned at his daughter, but she waved it off.

"Joffrey won't hate me for long. I will speak to him. After all, his mother will advise him to remain on good terms with me since he is to wed Sansa."

"How do you know this?" Ned folded his arms, adjusted his stance.

"I have spoken with the queen. She told me you were to be Hand. And I'm assuming she convinced you to take me along with you to Kingslanding."

Ned's jaw's noticeably clenched. "She did."

"Then we'll leave it at that. You girls shoulder rest, keep Lady close, Sansa. Arya, where's Nymeria?"

"I... I sent her away."

Lyon frowned. "Take Winter with you tonight, hmm? Maybe tomorrow I'll go try and find her."

"Thank you, Lyon," Arya said, lunging forward and wrapping her arms around her sister. Lyon smiled down at her, then ushered the two back toward the inn, Winter and Lady following them closely. Lyon waited a moment, then she and her father began to follow.

"It's days like these that I.. I realize how unlike a Stark I truly am."

"You protect your own. You're a Stark at heart if not in blood, Lyon."

"Everyone protects their own, father." She said, emerging back into the torchlight several feet from the inn. "But thank you anyways."

"You did well today, but be careful." He took her arm and stopped her by the door, turning her to face him. "We aren't in Winterfell anymore."

"I remember the dead stag and the dire wolf with an antler and six suckling pups at her cold teats. Do you?" A grim expression took over her fathers face. "I thought you did." She said, then went inside and to her room.

\- - -

"They killed Mycah."

"Shh, I know. I know." Lyon pressed her hand against Arya's head and pulled her close as the smaller girl tried to keep her eyes dry.

"Why would they kill him?"

Lyon found her gaze wandering to the windows of the carriage. Sansa sat across from them, and both Lady and Winter slumbered peacefully on the carriage floor. "They are trying to unnerve us, Arya. We mustn't let them. We will remember Mycah. And I will ride and look for Nymeria, hm?"

She heard Arya sniffle, and then nod. She smoothed her hair, then looked to Sansa. "I need you both on the same team today. Comfort each other. I will return soon." Lyon slipped from her sister's side and opened the carriage door as it lumbered along the Kingsroad. She leaped and landed with ease, and found Balthasar being lead by a Stark man ahead.

"I'll take him from you now." She said as she came up to the man. He relinquished the reigns without a word and she led the horse away from the lot and mounted him. She checked the bags, finding her sword where she'd left it and went to the woods.

Balthasar lumbered through the difficult terrain, ears swiveling back and forth as noises echoed through the corners of the forest. She found herself riding alongside the stream that connected to the clearing where Nymeria had attacked Joffrey. Lyon led Balthasar to the edge of the rocky bank and she looked down upon the small ripples as her mount trod forward.

"It isn't wise to be traipsing through the brush, Lady Lyon." A voice came from the bush, and when Lyon looked a white horse emerged with a golden Jaime Lannister upon its back.

"I'm looking for a wolf. I suppose you'd call that unwise as well." She urged Balthasar forward, but soon Jaime Lannister's horse was walking next to her.

"Even more so. Speaking of, where is that great beast that follows you around?"

"Around." She said listlessly. "He tends to pop up when you least expect it."

"So we're going to pretend you didn't leave him in that carriage with your sisters?"

Lyon met Jaime's eyes at squinted. "Just how long have you been watching me, Lannister?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, hm? My sister is none too pleased with you, you should know. Perhaps it is a good thing I'm here, defending a lady alone in the woods."

"You've been watching since the other night then." She looked at Jaime but he only shrugged. "I didn't want the prince to get hurt. I want to put what occurred behind us, to forget it ever happened. It can't be smart to have a feud with the prince of the realm- especially when he comes into the throne."

"So you aren't entirely a half-wit. That's good, hopefully, that'll work out for you."

Lyon raised an eyebrow, then suddenly she was grinning. Jaime blinked, confused. Hadn't he just insulted her?

"Not entirely, no."

"Well, you have a strange sense of humor."

"I'm sorry, but every time we meet you find some way to insult me. I'm simply amazed at all the free time you must have to think of these weak jabs at my psyche."

Jaime snorted. "If I remember, the last time we spoke you made fun at me!"

"You had no idea who I was! And neither did your brother, for that matter. You Lannister men are truly something."

"Why thank you, but if I might add it helps if you introduce yourself first."

"Well then," Lyon outstretched her hand to the Kingslayer. "I am Lyon Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Jaime stared at it for a moment, then took her hand and shook. "Jaime Lannister, Kingsguard. Pleased to make yours." They shook again, and then suddenly his hand wrenched from hers and slipped past her, into her saddlebag. He withdrew the silver blade from her pack, holding it before him.

"Hey, you give that back you scheving-"

"Now, now." Jaime steered his horse away as she made to grab the hilt of the blade. Lyon sat back on her horse and glowered at him. He inspected the blade for several moments longer. "Do you know how to use it?"

"Since I was four." She muttered. "Would you like me to test it on you? I just had it made and have yet to whet it."

"A threat? That's not very ladylike." He mused, then held the hilt out to her. "It's a fine blade. Here."

Lyon took the hilt and slipped the blade back into its hiding place. "Thank you." She watched him as she rode, and from the corners of his eyes, he watched her as well. Finally, she turned to look at the tree line in search of Nymeria.

"The beast is probably long gone." He began. "You can't tame animals like that. You'll figure it out soon enough."

"It's not about taming them, ser Jaime. It's about becoming as wild as them." And she rode forward, leaving him behind as she called into the woods in search of the missing dire wolf.


	10. Kingslanding

The streets of Kingslanding carried an aroma of shit and piss, and the occasional caterwaul met Lyon's ears from the city below. She stood atop the balcony of her new room, shrouded in vines and wafting an earthy scent upward. She retreated back into her room and closed the balcony doors, coming to sit upon the thick feather bed covered in a red and gold duvet. A knock came at her door and she rose, smoothing the blue dress she now donned, trim in gold.

"Come in." She called, and the door was opened by one of the Kingslanding guards, and Cersei stepped inside. "My queen," Lyon greeted with a deep and elegant curtsy.

"I've always liked this room. I told them it was to be yours." She said, coming to a table next to the door. The wine pitcher had already been touched, and a small smile pulled Cersei's lip.

"That is very kind of you, thank you."

"What is the matter, darling? I thought you said you were forward with your words? You skirt around the edges of what you wish to discuss, why?"

Lyon moved to the table and the pitcher, taking it and pouring two goblets of red wine. "I only hope that the incident with your son and my sister does not drive a wedge between us."

The Queen flippantly waved a hand. "Boys will be boys, my dear. Consider it past us." She received the wine as Lyon passed it to her.

"I only hope the prince thinks similarly." Lyon tipped her goblet past her lips, sighing at the rich taste. "I imagine he is none too impressed with me right now. I would like to speak with him, to try and remedy our relationship and start anew."

"Leave Joffrey to me. There is no need for him to keep petty grudges."

"Thank you, your grace."

Again, Cersei waved flippantly. "How are you liking Kingslanding?"

"Very much. I'm eager to explore the market, find gifts for my sisters and brothers back home."

"I'm sure they would like that." The queen said, sipping her wine until the goblet was empty. She set it on the table. "Do take an escort with you. The market can be a very dangerous place for a lady so fair."

Again, her hand came and lightly touched the hair that fell past Lyon's shoulder. She smiled, then Cersei bid her farewell and left, taking her soldiers with her. Lyon remained with her wine goblet in hand, downed the sweet nectar inside, and went from her room. The halls of the castle perplexed her, but it was not difficult to ask for directions. Soon she had gathered her coin and a basket and was heading toward the market.

Faces both clean and dirty swept past her, some staring and some quickly averting their gaze. She paid no mind to them, yet kept her wits about her as she made her way through the unfamiliar terrain. Exuberant colors jumped out at her as she walked past, and soon Lyon was striding along the stretch of the market selling trinkets and fruits. Exotic things. Voices from merchants came to her from their stalls, and she found a jewelry salesman beckoning her forth. Lyon stopped in front of the stall, looking the man in the eye before inspecting the glass cases of necklaces and rings.

"Exotic wares from across the narrow sea. From Pentos to Qarth, my lady." He said, a flirtatious smile hidden behind a black beard. Lyon leaned over and examined the exquisite necklaces.

"That is very far and exotic indeed. Have you been to these places yourself?"

"Yes, my lady. Often. I must if I am to find the best prices for trading and the finest wares." He said. "Ah, but for you, I may have something to suit your beauty, hmm? Such a lovely face, like the long summer."

"How kind of you." Lyon mused with a quirked lip, watching as the merchant ducked under his stall and began to rummage through cases. He withdrew a small case and flipped it open before her, revealing the golden necklace within. A golden flower chain carried on for the length of a collar, each flower a pristine white pearl and cussed by golden leaves.

"It is very beautiful." Lyon eyed the piece appreciatively. She imagined Sansa would love it very much. "How much are you asking?"

"An expensive gift. Ten gold dragons, my lady."

"I see. Expensive indeed. I doubt any of these passing men and women have that in their pockets. I will give you six." Lyon said, leaning over the stall.

"That's barely above half of what I ask. You do not mean to swindle me out of my goods, do you?"

"That depends on whether you mean to swindle me out of my coin." She countered, and the merchant's eyes gleamed.

"Eight."

"Seven."

"Done." He closed the case that held the necklace and Lyon grabbed the coins, dropping them in his hands and he gave her the case. She tucked it under the blankets in her basket. Lyon went to walk away when a hand clasped around her shoulder, and she was spun forcefully.

"It is you..." a blonde woman marveled, staring into Lyon's eyes. What had been happiness suddenly became fear. "You should not have come. They will try to kill you. Come with me!"

The woman grabbed Lyon's hand and pulled her through the crowd, hauling her forcefully past citizens on the streets.

"What are you talking about?" Lyon tried to pry herself from her grip. "Who are you?"

"Hush, child! Not here, we will speak where there are no ears." She hissed, ducking down an alley with little to no people. The woman went further still, until she went to the door of a small abode, unlocked the door, and ushered Lyon inside.

"I'm here, what is it you want?" Lyon backed away from the woman, her hand ready to make for the blade hidden inside her boot.

"My darling girl..." The woman turned, back to the door. She smiled slowly, softly.

"Who are you?" Lyon lifted her dress, grabbed the hilt and pulled out the blade.

"I am Alora. You are Lord Eddard Stark's eldest born? Lady Lyon?"

"Yes." Lyon adjusted her grip on the dagger, even as Alora nonchalantly walked around the room, looking Lyon from head to toe.

Alora put her hands to her face. Her eyes were suddenly wet. "You look just like your father, Lyon."

Lyon blinked. "Lord Eddard Stark is my father."

Alora shook her head. "It is good that Lord and Lady Stark kept their promises, but you are not their daughter. Not in blood."

"If I'm not their daughter, then whose am I?"

"Mine." She said with a smile.

\- - -

Lyon burst into her father's room, not a knock nor warning. She slammed it shut, and her father sat at his desk, staring up at her.

"During the rebellion, a woman named Alora Pyre came to you with her child in her arms. The city was being sacked, children were being taken from their homes and slain by Robert Baratheon's men. Every child with Targaryen traits, but Alora Pyre saw you. And she told you to take care of her child. And you did."

Ned rose from his chair. "Who told you this?"

"Alora Pyre." Lyon could feel her eyes sting, but she shook her head and rid herself of them. "Is it true?"

"Yes." Ned said with a frown. "You... you met her?"

"She recognized me in the market as Lady Lyon, as your daughter. She knew who I was."

"Are you alright?" He stepped forward, unsure of the proper action.

"I have learned something rather life-altering. I do not know if I'll be alright." She stepped past her father. She scoured the room with her eyes, but she did not see any wine.

"I can only imagine how you must feel, Lyon. Meeting your mother-"

"Knowing who my mother is not what has upset me." Lyon sat on her father's desk and folded her arms across her chest. "It was learning who my father was."

Ned went still, peering at her from the sides of his eyes. "Who is he?"

"Was. He's very dead now." She said. "And... it's best if you do not know. It's best if I forget. I just wanted you to know that I know now. Everything can be forgotten... Is there really no wine in your room?"

"If you keep drinking as you do you'll end up with a belly like your king."

Lyon raised an eyebrow. "Best keep your voice down, those are fighting words. How was the Small Council?" At this, her father sighed.

"Exhausting. Did you know that Robert is six million gold in debt? All because of these parties and tournaments the King wants to host. And now he wants to host another."

"So he can eat, drink, and- well, you know." She shrugged and adjusted her bottom on the desk. "Are you sure you should be telling me this?"

"If I can't trust you then I can trust no one. In some ways, you've been more of my advisor than a daughter."

"If I had thinner skin that would have insulted me. But you're right. Try as I might've, I could never simply stand by."

"Hmm." He agreed. "You always were a twitchy child."

"Oh, shut up." She reached forward and playfully shoved her father. "That reminds me, I'm sorry I missed dinner."

Ned waved it off. "You didn't miss much. Arya and Sansa still aren't getting along."

"They'll grow out of it eventually. They're simply two sides of the same coin. Different, but the same."

"Well put. Now if only they'd listen." Lyon nodded in agreement, then rose.

"I's best be off. I have a gift for Sansa that I bought for her in the market today. I want to catch her before she goes to sleep."

"Of course. Goodnight, Lyon."

"Goodnight, Ned." She pushed herself off the desk and went for the door, closing it behind her as she made her way to her sister's room.


	11. Like a Spider in The Shadows

A month in Kingslanding. A month to catch up with the mother Lyon had never known, and each chance she had she made sure she was at her mother's side. There was so much more to know, so much to be told about her father.

"You were a whore? How in the hell did you manage to get a place like this?"

"Your father was quite wealthy, as you can imagine. When I told him I had you in my belly he made sure to set me up nicely." Alora chuckled quietly from her seat.

Now that hostilities lay at rest, Lyon was quite content to sit across from Alora Pyre and listen as she regaled tales of her childhood and pregnancy.

"Were you his favorite? Woman, that is."

"I do believe I was his favorite whore if that's what you're too afraid to say." Alora's eyes twinkled. The sun hit her golden blonde hair, making it look like a fierce flame. "All his other girls were killed. Only I remained."

"And why was that?"

Alora shrugged. "Hard to tell what goes on in a man's head."

"It depends on the man. Many are simple." Lyon glanced at Alora with a faint grin. "I knew a simple man. With simple needs."

"Do tell." Alora leaned forward in her seat, reflecting the grin.

"Theon Greyjoy. I can't count how many times I've been with him. Short instances. Never knew how to please a woman." Lyon sighed, leaned back. She watched shadows pass outside.

"Do you miss him?"

"He wasn't exactly kind, and we grew apart before I left Winterfell. I won't miss it if I never lay with him again." Lyon stood, suddenly thirsty and went for the pitcher of water. She poured her glass and sipped it tepidly.

"Is he the only one?"

Lyon sighed, then shook her head. "One of my father's men, Jory Cassel. Far better than Theon. More methodical. That was about a week ago." As Alora giggled, Lyon found the laughter falling from her own lips. "Gods, I can only imagine what would happen if ever my father knew."

"I'm sure Lord Stark would be more displeased with his man than you."

"That's why I'm afraid." Lyon chuckled. Suddenly, she rose. "I'd best be off. Father has been complaining about my tardiness lately."

"Travel safely, darling." Alora rose as well, coming to stand before her daughter. She cupped her cheek in her hand. "Your mother loves you."

The ghost of a smile lit Lyon's eyes. "I know." She turned away from her mother and was out the door.

Lyon walked for some time, detouring through the streets and enjoying the sun upon her bare arms. That was when she heard familiar voices.

"I thought that she'd be safest here. One of several such establishments I own."

"You're a funny man. A very funny man."

She heard them, clear as day. Alora had taught her to hear much within the city, knowing it was a dangerous place and all. She heard Petyr Baelish and her father, heard the sound of Petyr hitting the wall. Lyon turned the corner then, and there she hid, watching as her father pinned the man to the wall. She had seen Littlefinger before, often in the Small Council her father had his place in.

"Ned?" A voice came from above, and a head poked out of the window. Lyon's breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of her own mother from the window. Ned Stark quickly hurried inside the brothel, Littlefinger following quick behind him. Seeing that the area was clear, Lyon found herself hurrying inside after them. Not a man or woman saw her enter, or even pass up the stairs. Alora had often told her that nothing happens in Kings Landing without someone seeing, but Lyon found herself with a natural knack for it. She enjoyed the rush in her blood as she paused before the door her father and mother disappeared within.

"The mere suggestion that the queen's brother tried to kill your boy would be considered treason." Lyon heard Littlefinger say.

"We have proof. We have the blade." Catelyn countered.

"Which Lord Tyrion will say was stolen from him. The only man who could say otherwise has no throat, thanks to your boy's wolf."

All Lyon could feel was confusion as the conversation ensued, so lightly her knuckles rapped upon the door, and she strode within sight.

"If I may, I would very much like to say hello to my mother." Lyon stepped past the threshold, a summer sweet smile upon her face as she folded her hands before her. "Welcome to King's Landing."

Lady Catelyn Stark stared at her daughter. In the month that had passed since she'd seen her last her daughter's hair had likened to the sun, shining like Valyrian steel.

"Lyon..." she murmured, then came forward and held her daughter, and she held her mother in return. "What are you doing here?"

"Yes, how did you get into my brothel?" Littlefinger eyed Lyon head to toe, his smile bitter.

"I walked in, as I watched you and my parents do, my lord. I'm afraid while I was wandering the market when my curiosity got the best of me." She pulled away from her mother and smiled sweetly at Baelish. She didn't think she would ever trust the man.

"You aren't safe here-" her father tried to say, but Lyon interrupted him.

"I feel safer among concubines than I do alone, father." As she said this, she thought of Alora, then smiled at Catelyn. "You think Lord Tyrion tried to kill Bran? I find that hard to believe."

"And why is that? What do you know of the imp?"

"I know enough about him that he drinks and whores, but he does not attempt murder upon little boys. Not only is it my gut instinct, but it is also based upon logic." Lyon sighed, scouted the room, and suddenly found a wine pitcher. She quickly found herself drinking a goblet. "Following up on this matter is rather foolish."

"How dare you speak to your mother like this! Your brother is-"

"Wasting away in a bedchamber. Yes, I know. But I know who my mother and father are, and I feel as though my knowledge is also required here." She drank her wine gratefully, then looked to her mother. Lyon arched a brow, then Catelyn's eyes dawned with the realization.

"I am a stubborn girl, mother. I'm sorry if I've insulted you. But Tyrion is not to blame. I'm sure of it." The wine was sweet upon her lips.

"It is alright, child," Catelyn said, now gesturing to Littlefinger. "Petyr has promised to help us find the truth. He's like a brother to me. He would never betray my trust."

Littlefinger seemed to shrug sheepishly. "I'll try to keep you alive, Ned. A fool's task, admittedly, but I've never been able to refuse your wife anything."

"I won't forget this. You're a true friend." Catelyn said.

"Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to maintain."

"Yes, well, now that's all settled..." Lyon paused, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She looked at the wine and squinted, then finished the cup. "I'll be-"

"Heading back to the Red Keep and keeping your mouth shut. I will come to speak to you when I return." Ned Stark suddenly said.

Lyon sighed and set down the goblet. She plastered a smile upon her face, understanding she would be given a talking to come afternoon. She turned to Littlefinger. "My thanks for the wine, my lord. It was good to see you again, mother. I'll see you back at the keep." She patted her father's shoulder, then she was off to the Red Keep, dreading when Ned was to return.

\- - -

"What do you think you were doing?"

"Visiting my mother."

"Your mother took a great risk-"

"My other mother."

Eddard Stark fell silent. His eyes went to his daughter who sat upon his desk, wine goblet and pitcher in hand.

"Is she enforcing this habit?" He gestured to the goblet. Lyon shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid it is solely my doing. All this stress, the plot for my brother's murder- you could say it's been getting to me."

"You're different in King's Landing. I have half a mind to send you back to Winterfell."

Lyon snorted. "That may just be safer for the both of us, but you have yet to marry me to some highborn lord."

"Keep talking and it'll be sooner than you think." Ned stepped forward, taking the goblet from his daughter's hands. He inspected it, then drained the glass himself. Finished, he looked to his daughter. "Why did you stand up for Tyrion? Last I saw he didn't even know you were a Stark of Winterfell."

"No one ever expected me to be a Stark. Fair-haired and bright-eyed. They assume me to be kitchen staff before a Lady of House Stark." Lyon snatched the goblet back and poured more wine. "I overheard Tyrion slapping his nephew silly, telling him to pay his respects to the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, to offer them condolences. It was funny, and he seemed most honest. He did not push Bran from that tower, and he certainly did not try to have him killed."

"So you say, but we cannot yet know for certain." He said.

"So be it." She drained her wine. "I'd best leave. I ought to see Arya and Sansa-"

"Actually, tomorrow Arya has a dancing lesson. I'd like you to go with her."

"Dancing? Arya?" Lyon arched her brow.

"You'll see. Meet her tomorrow, perhaps you may learn something."

"I know how to dance, father."

"Perhaps, but not like they do in Bravoos."


	12. Dancing Lessons

Arya and Lyon stepped onto the balcony, catching Syrio Florel's eyes as they both stepped forward. Arya, he recognized as the one he was to teach to 'dance', however, the golden-haired Lyon- he did not understand her presence.

"You are late, boy. You will be here at midday." He jabbed a finger in Arya's direction. "And you-you wish to dance?" He looked to Lyon now, whose wry grin was growing.

"I fancy myself a decent dancer, my lord."

"We shall see." He said, yet the ghost of a smile was hidden.

Arya crossed her arms. "Who are you?"

"Your dancing master, Syrio Florel." He had a wooden sword suddenly in his hand and flung it Arya, but after she fumbled to grasp its hilt it clambered to the ground. "Tomorrow you will catch it. Now pick it up." Arya attempted too, but Syrio shook his head. "That is not the way, boy. This is not a great sword that needs two hands to swing."

Arya frowned at her dancing master and hefted the sword with both hands. "It's too heavy."

"It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong. Just so. One hand is all that is needed. Now you are standing all wrong. Turn your body side-face. So. You are skinny. That is good. The target is smaller. Now the grip... Let me see. The grip must be delicate."

"What if I drop it?"

Lyon shrugged. "Then you are dead."

Syrio raised an eyebrow as Lyon sat upon a stair. He shrugged in a haphazard agreement. "The steel must be part of your arm. Can you drop part of your arm? No. Nine years Syrio Forel was the first sword to the Sealord of Braavos. He knows these things. You must listen to me, boy."

"I'm a girl." Arya relented.

"Boy, girl... You are a sword, that is all. " Syrio said. "You are not holding a battle ax. You are holding a-"

"A needle." Arya interrupted, a grin on her face as she lifted the sword up to eyesight.

"Ah, just so."

Watching Arya fight with her needle sent nostalgia rushing through Lyon as her thoughts turned to her brothers, and not for the first time since her arrival in King's Landing. It was clear that the young Stark girl needed diligent practice with each time Syrio batted away her strikes like it was nothing to him. All the while he smiled, and despite the longing she felt for her family, Lyon smiled as well. But Arya visibly improved in their session, even as the sun began to set in the sky. 

"Run along now child," Syrio finally ceased their training. Sweat clung to Arya's brow, yet Syrio himself seemed unperturbed. "And remember midday!"

Arya was too excited to pay much mind to the exhaustion aching her tired limbs, but energy sprung forth from them nonetheless. The sparring sword was returned to Syrio and the young Stark girl made to run off. Sore from sitting upon the stairs for those hours, Lyon rose and rubbed at the pangs in her joints. She made to follow Arya, but Syrio Florel had another plan for her it seemed.

"You, girl. Wait."

"Girl, is it now?" Lyon paused upon the stair and flung a look over her shoulder. She found herself turning as she saw a steel blade being pulled from its sheath- a rather familiar blade. "Where did you get that?"

"It does not matter. It is a formidable blade, you know. The question is if you know how to use it." He assessed the steel in his hand, eyeing the silver gleam from pommel to blade. It sparked an attractive gleam in his eyes, and it stayed even as he offered the hilt for Lyon to take.

"I have a suspicious feeling we are about to find out." She grasped the fresh leather of the hilt in her palm, squeezing and leaving impressions upon it. It was light in her arm though she knew it was from rigorous strength training she had endured. She doubted her young sisters would be able to lift the blade from the ground, but this blade she could grasp in a single hand and swing swiftly.

"We shall." He countered and the mischief in his eyes hid his sudden attack as he lunged with the wooden sparring blade. Lyon met the surprise attack with a fleeting parry, skidding with her foot as the strength of his attack knocked her balance astray. Little time was left for her to recuperate and as Syrio went to strike again Lyon just barely managed to lift her own blade. Again and again, he struck in quick succession, yet as weak and lagging as her parries were they seemed to form an impenetrable barrier that he could not get past.

With his next blow, Lyon swung into her parry and found herself with her back to the setting sun, golden tresses swinging behind her. The sun, fading, hit Syrio's eyes and gave him cause to squint. It was a small victory even if she had outlasted Arya in stamina and strength. Chancing the offensive, Lyon swung quick and lithe strikes at the dancing master in quick succession finding herself reveling in each step he took backward. Strength seemed to build in her arms but it did not last long. True, she had spent the last several hours watching Syrio and the way he moved, but there was much he still had not shown. Lyon had almost completely forgotten about his feet when he parried, spun, and swept his foot beneath her ankle. She saw it a split second before it happened and managed to spring upward, but Syrio's blade was waiting and he slammed it against her blade, sending her sprawling on her back upon the stone floor.

Pain blossomed at her spine and the small of her back. Her dress clung and twisted about her ankles in tangles as she tried to stand against, but the breath in her lungs had disappeared and she was left wheezing on the sun-warmed floor.

"You have been fighting against brutes who rely solely on strength. Your blade must be an extension of your arm, not a club to mindlessly swing. Yet you have keen eyes and swift reflexes. We will meet again tomorrow. Midday." He offered no aid as Lyon laid there, and for how long she did not know. Syrio left, and she remained there. For some time she inhaled sharply and deeply, finally shifting slowly to sit. Seven hells.

"Having a hard time getting up?"

"Be a dear and help an old woman up, Jory." Lyon didn't have to look to remember the familiar drawl of her recent lover. His steps brought him toward her all the while a chuckle tumbled from his chest. Strong hands grasped her arms and he gently helped her rise to her feet. Lyon brushed the dust from her tunic and met the eyes bright with mirth.

"It is not polite to laugh at a lady."

"When you have seen one, do tell me. I'd hate to embarrass myself."

Lyon went to playfully hit his arm, but suddenly her wrist was in Jory's grip and his other arm had found its way behind her back. Their chests and abdomens pressed firmly against each other. She could feel his breath upon her nose.

"You're a mean man." She pouted, and suddenly that bottom lip was in Jory's fingers.

"You seem to like me, at least." His grasp became tender as his face lowered and that pout melded against his mouth. The kiss was light, but became firm and deep; a desire pulsates through their bodies. When the kiss ended no words were needed to tell where they made their way to. Lyon's room was the nearest, and when she closed it behind them she made sure it locked securely.

\- - -

"Lady Lyon, I was wondering when I would get the chance to speak with you."

The book in Lyon's hand had drawn her attention for most of the day, but now another distraction was imminent. Renly Baratheon sauntered toward her with a charming smile. Outside, where the sun could shine upon Lyon's hair, the brother of the king was suddenly stricken by the vibrancy of her countenance. She smiled politely and closed her book.

"Lord Renly. It's a pleasure. Would you like to sit?" Reassured by her welcome, he took a seat. "Has my father been doing well as Hand? I ask, yet the answer I receive is never satisfactory. I would truly like to know how he is faring."

"He does his best with what is left with him. Unfortunately, when Jon Arryn passed, things were not in the greatest state of upkeep." He flashed her a suggestive look, and a giggle rose from her chest. Renly Baratheon enjoyed the sound, so smooth and harmonious with the breeze that rustled the leaves. How a Stark managed to outshine the spring, he did not know. Yet beautiful as she was, he saw only innocence in her, and that is what drew him to her. Like a little sister, a girl in need of protection.

"Of course, of course. It mustn't be easy being the Hand of the King. So many decisions to make, with so many to agree and argue amongst. It must be impossible to please everyone."

"Your father is finding that a challenging task, at least."

Lyon batted her eyelashes and looked upon Lord Renly. "Oh? How so?"

"Well, you didn't hear this from me but..." And Renly suddenly grew close, whispering into her ear. "There is to be a tournament for the Hand, but Lord Stark wants nothing to do with it. He claims the cost is too high."

"Is.. is the crown in debt, my Lord?"

Renly lifted a finger to his lips in a shushing fashion but conceded to the question with a nod. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"No," Lyon's lip began to curl into a grin. "No, I did not."


	13. To Kill a Man

"So the King is in debt? Well, I think we all suspected as much. What with his extravagant arrangements and all that." Alora flippantly waved a hand as she and her daughter made their way down the streets. "But it seems you have many men wrapped around your finger thus far."

"Not many. I just try to be kind and-"

"Conniving. You understand people better than you let on. Where did you learn that from?"

"Well..." Lyon pandered. "There was a brothel in Winterfell. I got along well with the women there and... they taught me things."

"Leave it to the whores to know how men's minds work. We know best, of course." Lyon's mother flashed a grin, catching her eye. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by solemnity. "There's a place I want to show you. Some people I want you to meet. You may like them, but be warned they will not be outrightly kind to you."

"No one ever is unless one has to be," Lyon replied, to which she noticed a nod of approval from Alora. Together they silently made their way through the city rabble, cloaks and hoods hiding their countenances from the passerby. It was when their road became narrow and scarce of souls and light that Lyon began to worry. Instinctively her hand found the small blade at her belt.

Alora's eyes swept the area, and only when no one was in sight did she lean to a grate on the ground. "Help me with this." She said, and Lyon momentarily bent to lift it with her and set it aside. The hole revealed was large enough to fit one body at a time, and reeked of sewage. Lyon's nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Is it down there?"

"The safest places are always where nobody wants to go." Alora assured, lifting the skirts of her dress to climb down the ladder. Lyon hesitated when her mother's form became imperceivable amidst the darkness below, but she allowed the trust Alora had earned to make her descend the ladder, and pull the cover back over the hole.

It was complete darkness, and the stench clung to the walls and the air. There was a sudden spark, and suddenly a torch ignited in Alora's hands, followed by another, which found its place in Lyon's hands.

"Follow me. There are some twists and turns, but should you know to read the signs then you will find your way. Even in the dark." Alora began forward, each step echoing through the cavernous stretch. It felt like leagues that they walked and wound their way through the maze of tunnels. Rats and roaches scurried past their toes and squealed at the light. They would scamper off to some new hiding place and then be gone to Lyon's eyes. Good riddance, she thought in disgust.

"If you expect me to make nice with the rodents then-"

"Hush! We are almost there."

Lyon's words fell away. Silence consumed the tunnel, but then there was a door. Metal and locked, it seemed. But Alora strode toward the lonely door and knocked in a series of long and short taps.

"Who knocks?" A recognizably male voice answered.

"A flower in the night. And her guest."

There was a brief pause, then the lock's mechanisms came undone. Scraping against the floor, the opened and a dimly lit room was revealed to Lyon. Alora strode forward, her younger half following closely behind. They met the man who had opened the door as he shut it and secured the lock. He was massive, larger even than the Hound whom Lyon had only seen a few times. A thick black beard and hair hung to his chest, while his body was carved in a dull yet fortified leather garb. He caught Lyon's watchful eye and marched past, never breaking eye contact.

"You'll see him then, I assume." He said, speaking plainly to Alora.

"If that isn't too much trouble, Theron."

"He'll decide if she's trouble or not." And at that, his eyes burned into Lyon, but she did not cower. "Why is she here?"

"I mean to protect her. To ensure her safety."

"And why would you ever ensure someone's safety, Little Flower?"

"This is my daughter. My only daughter." Alora's hands wrapped around Lyon's arms firmly, pulling her closer.

Theron's eyes grew wider, but the look quickly disappeared. He grunted, then turned on his heel. "Follow," he ordered. Again it was an adventure through darkened tunnels, yet admittedly shorter this time. Lyon found herself waiting outside of a large wooden door that suddenly flung open before Theron could knock.

A man and woman emerged, side by side. The firey auburn hair of the man held great contrast to the dank surroundings, as did the blonde woman at his hip. Immediately they saw Alora hanging behind Theron, and they grinned wickedly.

"Dear sister, you've arrived. And not a moment too soon." The man greeted. Lyon's eyes flicked between the three, hardly noticing that Theron quickly took his leave. "And who is this lovely little kitten?"

The man took Lyon's hand gently in his, lifting it to his lips to place a gentle peck. Habit made her curtsy and bow her head. The golden-haired woman began to chuckle. "She's well trained, isn't she?"

"She's my daughter." Alora lifted a hand to pat Lyon's hair, smiling sweetly. "Lyon, this is Favera and Raphael. My dear brother and sister."

Lyon's eyes went to her mother. "I didn't know you had siblings."

"There is much you still don't know, but I trust you more so now. We'll have plenty of things to discover together."

"Yes," Raphael stepped away from the door and gestured inside. "Come inside, all shall be told."

Lyon blinked, for the first time in a long time feeling genuine trepidation. She did not think Alora to be the one to slink in the sewers, but then again that's what Lyon was doing below the streets of Kingslanding at that very moment.

\- - -

All was explained. And soon, all became terribly frightening.

"You see, my dear, we need you now more than ever. Your mother has been a loyal supporter of our efforts... do this task for us and you will have our protection for life." Raphael's words clung to her even in the safety of her own room.

Because the truth was, and she had always known, that murderers and thieves slunk through the shadows each night.

And the vial in her hand gave her the option to become one of those monsters in order to preserve her own safety.

To kill a man she did not even know... The thought was inescapable. She knew she could do it with her own two hands- she felt the power radiating through bone and muscle. Yet to actually commit such a heinous act was almost unthinkable. And by poison... she didn't have to see his face when he died. Just had to snag the pretty ring off of his finger as proof and bring it to Raphael and Favera.

She would do this task once for her own safety, Lyon thought. And as her thoughts evolved, she decided she'd do three others. Three more murders for the three she loved in Kingslanding. For their safety.

\- - -

Lyon had been reading the same page for the past half hour. Her eyes drifted, partially closed as she tried to remain awake through breakfast.

"Lyon, are you alright? Did you not sleep?" Septa Mordane inquired. Sansa and Arya lifted their heads to watch their dozing sister.

Lyon roused herself, closing the book and shaking her head. Her plate had been emptied, but it only served to make her more tired. "Poor sleep is all. I was reading most of the night."

"You mean drinking wine." Arya grinned, at least until Sansa's foot stepped on her own. "Ow!"

"Are you well, Lyon?" Ned leaned forward, inspecting the look upon his daughter's face. "You don't look well."

"Please, my ego can only handle so much." She waved off his concern and went for the water, sipping it and relieving her parched tongue. The headache that grew seemed to be from the drinking the night before. A stress tick, she realized. A weakness. She enjoyed her drink, more so when worrisome, less so the next morning.

"We'll discuss it after breakfast." He said.

"I'll be in my chambers." Lyon rose from her chair, rattling it noisily with a grimace. She swept out of the room none too elegantly to hurry to her bed. Even the clapping of her slippers against the marble floors caused her temples to ache. But little refuge she found at her own doors when an ever so familiar Lannister hung there, hands folded behind his back.

"Ser Jaimie." Lyon curtsied. "Might I inquire as to why you loiter before my chambers?"

"The queen wishes to speak to you. Didn't tell me why. I'm quite curious myself."

"So you're to escort me." Lyon sighed. "I suppose there is no denying the queen. I'll soothe this splitting headache when I return. Let's not keep her waiting."

"Wise answer." He said, and the two made their way down the halls of the Red Keep. "Do you still practice with that sword of yours?"

"Of course."

"I still wonder why, but I suppose I should expect roughhousing from a Stark child. I hear your little sister, Arya, is quite troublesome as well."

"It's not roughhousing if you take it seriously, Ser Jaime." Lyon's hand went to her temple. She deeply wished this conversation involved fewer words. "And Arya is young. She has a right to play. Makes for strong bones and mind- perhaps she'll be better than you one day."

"Unlikely." Jaime snorted.

"Don't underestimate a Stark." Though her head wailed, Lyon managed a calculated gaze upon Jaime Lannister's face, one that stole his eyes. It wasn't long before Jaime lead Lyon to the queen's chambers and rapped his knuckles upon the door. A beckon to enter was called from within, and soon Lyon was in the queen's presence once more, the door closing behind her.


	14. Murder and a Show

Lyon's talks with the queen had begun happening more and more, evening and morning. Wine for both, sometimes dinner, sometimes to break their fast. They would talk about things, marriage and economy and war. Subjects unbefitting of ladies to speak of, yet Queen Cersei spoke as though she was well versed in all. She never failed to impress Lyon, and her admiration for the queen grew.

And as she left the queen's quarters to stand at her father's dinner table, disappointed furrowed his brow.

"I've already broken my fast with the queen, I'm afraid." And would take her seat, book in hand. Something from the grand library, or of her own collection.

"Tomorrow then."

Yet most days she missed family meals. Then, as more visitors came to attend the Hand's Tournament, she missed much more as a terror seized her. Lyon would hide in her room, fingering the vial of poison in her fingers as she eyed the crowd of people. No familiar face stuck out of the crowd- no extravagantly fat man adorned in royal purple and deep blues, gold and gems adorning his coat and hands. No, she could not see the face of the man she was to kill.

But, she knew his name. And she knew how to get almost anything she wanted out of a man. His life would be added to that list of things in due time.

The tournament was a sight to behold. Decorations of every color flying high, flowers blooming blissfully in the sun. Horses whinnied from the stables as their riders suited them for the joust in an hours time. The hand-to-hand portion had come to a close in a bloody but brilliant mess. Injuries here and there- but a grand sight to behold all the same. As the event concluded, Lyon became another body amongst the horde of party-goers and feasters. Lord Barton was fat as he was extravagant, which seemed a common theme among the wealthy. His reputation for whoring, wining, and dining (sometimes all at the same time) preceded him. When Lyon found him in his tent, two of the three were present.

Through the folds, she could hear the giggling of prostitutes, could see his big black beard shaking as he chuckled and juggled his goblet of wine in one hand, and a woman's ass cheek in the other. She was naked from the waist down, her hair covering her tanned chest. Lyon was silent as she slipped into the tent, lingering in the shadows. She made quick work of her dress, letting it slip to the floor. Her heart hammered in her throat with each step. Toes anxious dug into the dirt.

With a light hand she touched the whore's shoulder, and let her hand trail across the woman's back. She lifted her head and moved to the side, allowing Lyon to place her legs on either side of the lord. A woman's hand ran across Lyon's back, eliciting chills that made her want to hurl her breakfast into one of the bushes outside.

"What's this?" Lord Barton's hand came to cusp her ass, squeezing and mangling the flesh there. His hand came back and slapped, and the sound startled Lyon against him. She could feel his bulge, and let a hand come to rest upon his thigh, stroking upward toward the groin with a terribly slow and faint touch. "This one knows what she wants... Leave us." He set down his wine and flippantly waved the other women off, tossing coins at their feet. The women picked their silken garments and payment and left quietly. Both hands came to Lyon's rear end, squeezing each cheek with hard and calloused hands. Her soft moans elicited more force from his hands until her rubbing against his manhood could be taken no longer. With clumsy fingers, he unfastened his belt and sprung free.

It looked simply like a whore's trick as she lifted her arms to run her fingers through her up-do, strands coming loose. He didn't notice the vial she snuck from the tangles of her hair as she braced both hands on the back of his chair, then swiftly emptied the vial into his wine. She ran her tongue along his neck, moaning quietly.

In his stillness, she returned her vial to her hair, running her hands down her bare throat and breasts. Her eyes contemplatively landed on the wine, and she took the goblet in hand and offered it to the Lord with a cheeky smile. He heartily drank from his goblet, tossing it to the ground with red nectar dribbling down his chin. He grinned for a few moments, then a knot in his brow came. He began to shudder in his seat, eyed popping wide as the trembling became frantic shaking. The Lord's mouth opened to scream in terror, but Lyon's hand slammed down on him, and her legs hooked the legs of the chair to keep him bound.

And just like that, he died beneath her.

She eased herself from the man's corpse and promptly took a swig of untainted wine from the decanter, stopping only when it had been emptied to dress and fix her hair. Lyon allowed herself to cry only briefly before she wiped her eyes, grabbed Lord Barton's signature ring, and fled.

A party-goer had donned her with a leafy flower wreath as she slipped through the crowd, not truly seeing those she passed. Her feet took her to the seats that presided over the joust, which was soon to begin. She found her sister Sansa and slipped into a spot next to her, squeezing her legs together and folding her hands over her lap.

"Lyon? Are you alright?"

"Yes, it's just... The heat is getting to me." Sansa held out of a fan, which Lyon took thankfully and began lightly fanning herself, fingering the ring in her other hand, and truly sick curling of her lip trying to form.

The joust went by at a slow crawl, and Lyon didn't truly pay attention to it all. She smiled and giggled with Sansa when Loras Tyrell presented her with a single red rose and a charming grin. Lyon watched the young man leave, squeezing Sansa's hand with a girlish giggle.

"You two seem to be enjoying yourselves. Where's Arya?" Ned Stark approached them both, taking a seat at Lyon's side.

Sansa answered. "At her dancing lessons." As she said it her eyes were upon the Knight of Flowers, never leaving as the young man bowed before his king, and mounted his steed.

Lyon's nails dug into the palms of her hands. That sick reek of bile pervaded her senses as she felt her morning meal rise up her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand, praying she would make it without vomiting across the stands. Gods- a sight that would be. The thought distracted for a moment and the fear of humiliation forced her to swallow the rising bile.

And it was, as the joust was just beginning to start, that there was a shriek of terror from the tents. Lyon's heart sunk deep into her belly. The urge to flee consumed her as an escort flew into the jousting. Tears strung down her cheeks. The poor woman was shaking like a leaf.

"There's- there's been a murder. Lord Barton has been murdered."

Lords and ladies rose from their seats. A murdered among them! Their frantic expressions bespoke their deep fears as havoc broke out amongst the stands. It was all so dizzying. The frenzy of it all. Lyon could hardly speak, could hardly stand as she only half feigned her fear. As she rose her hands to her breast in a gesture of shock, she dropped the Lord's ring between her breasts.

"Are we safe, father?" Sansa's tiny plea for reassurance struck Lyon. The elder sibling reached her hand and laid it on Sansa's.

"Don't fear, Sansa. We'll be fine. Father, perhaps Jory should return us to the castle. It.. it'll be safer there."

Ned Stark met Lyon's eyes for a moment, appraising the glossy sheen and the paleness of her complexion. His jaw clenched, and he quickly nodded. "Jory, return the girls to the castle. I'll be along shortly."

Jory Cassel had risen when the outcry began and turned to Lord Stark at his word. As commanded, he assisted the girls down from the stands as the ruckus suddenly died down from an outburst from the king. But Lyon could no longer hear her king. No, the blood was rushing through her body like rapids and sounded in her ears like great waterfalls, blocking out all sound and sense. She could only hold Sansa close and flee from the crime scene of her own doing.


	15. Rendezvous

Despite the horrific event at the Hand's Tournament, the King had insisted the festivities continue. The body had been removed and disposed of, Lyon had heard, but she didn't care to listen to what else had become of Lord Barton's remains. There was suspicion that the murderer had meant to steal his signet ring, as it was missing from his corpse, but despite Lyon's fear and her guilt neither did she listen to these musings.

Once in the safety of her own rooms with Jory standing watch, and Sansa upon her linens, Lyon's feet carried her to the window, where she released her stomach into the gardens below. Jory was there in a moment, his hands coming to her hair and pulling it away from her face. She had begun to take on a sickly green complexion, even as the last of her stomach emptied and her form slumped against the floor, eyes dull with exhaustion.

"Lyon... are you alright?" Sansa rose from the bed and dared only step once toward her sickly sister.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine, Sansa. It was just the stress. A murder... Gods."

"Sansa, let me return you to your chambers." Jory said. "Don't worry, there will be a guard posted just outside." He assured as her trepidation showed itself through the frantic darting of her eyes. He quietly escorted her from the room, promising Lyon he'd 'be right back'. The brief absence of company allowed Lyon to collect herself and shakily pull her trembling body up onto her bed. A shiver had begun to take her. It pervaded the blankets and sheets even as she hugged them close.

It wasn't lonely for long. Soon enough Jory returned to find her staring at the window from her bed, a pitcher of water in his possession. He spoke as he poured a goblet and passed it to the young woman.

"You've not been yourself lately. I'm... worried."

"I've been preoccupied, is all. It's nothing." Lyon accepted the goblet graciously, sipping as her body began to readjust.

"You were just sick from a window. And don't tell me it was because of that murder today. I know you. You aren't shaken easily, my Lady."

"Oh, stop it with the titles, Jory. What're you trying to get at with this? Speak plainly."

She felt Jory ease onto the mattress next to her, lips quirking upward as his two hands wrapped around hers. "Are you... Are you pregnant?"

"Pregnant? Gods, Jory! No, I'm not pregnant."

"Are you sure?" He pressed further, concern evident in his eyes.

Lyon scoffed. "I think I'd know if I was pregnant. Why? Do I look pregnant?"

He shook his head and inched closer to Lyon, his hands moving from hers to her thigh where he squeezed affectionately. "No, no, of course not."

"Good." She made a noise of indignation. "Besides, if I was then I'd tell you the first chance I got. There's no way I'd suffer alone, or in silence." A chuckle was roused from Jory.

"Of course. I suppose I'm the fool now."

"My fool. You're my fool, Jory." Lyon lifted her hand to cup his cheek, the stubble brushing against her soft palm like a pearl against the sand. She brushed her thumb against the stubble briefly before he closed the distance between them and their lips met. He kissed her softly, the way that she knew he liked to- but the stress and her fear of the day had ignited something deep within her. She wanted to forget the look in Lord Barton's eyes as he died beneath her, forget that feeling of sickness that cascaded over her when she'd left the body behind. As Jory's hands wandered, she suddenly felt the deadening weight of Lord Barton's signet ring between her breasts.

"Mm. One- one moment." Lyon broke the kiss and rose from the bed, leaving Jory with his breath just becoming ragged from arousal. She kept her back facing him as she reached into her bodice, opened the drawer of her dresser, and deposited the ring there. Closing the drawer, she turned to face him and pulled on her typical lopsided grin on. "Want to help me out of this dress?"

He didn't have to be asked twice, and swiftly crossed the room to relieve her of her clothes before slipping onto the bed with her. Lyon's need for his touch only heightened the more he pressed against her, and further so when he was inside her- and she was saying his name between breaths, giggling at every creak the bed made, giggling even as he finished inside of her. She'd made him work harder and faster, and her relief from her memories was brief, but the feeling of euphoria after their lovemaking lingered.

Together they laid in her bed and spoke of little things. Jory missed Winterfell, and Lyon missed her brothers. She hoped Bran was well. Jory assured her he was. Any day now he expected they would get a letter speaking of his miraculous recovery. Lyon hoped he was right.

They didn't linger in bed for longer than an hour before they rose and dressed. Jory in his usual garment, and Lyon in nightclothes. She had retained her exhaustion from before, and some after their little session. She wished for sleep, hopefully, a dreamless one.

Jory removed himself from her quarters with a chaste kiss, ducking into the hall undetected. But even after he left and she settled down to rest, sleep evaded her. It was late afternoon now, and her father still had not returned from the tournament. She still felt the weight of the ring- its presence in her quarters seemed to taunt her. Best to be rid of it before one of the handmaidens found it in her dresser.

Lyon rose and dressed again, tucking the ring between her breasts as a final piece. She snuck into the hall not long after Jory had, nodding respectfully to the guards she saw along the way. One nearly stopped her from leaving the castle, but Lyon excused herself. She needed to find her sister, Arya. To make sure she was safe. He offered to come along, but she shook her head.

"It'll be faster if I go alone, sir. But thank you, it was a very kind offer."

It was hard not to listen to the sweetness of the eldest Stark girl, and so he simply watched her as she left.

The market streets weren't nearly as overcrowded as usual, thanks to the Hand's Tournament. It was a simple task to slink through the shadows with her hood slung over her face until she let herself inside Alora's home. It was quiet and dark. The curtains were drawn to block out the sun, and she could smell sage burning somewhere inside.

"Alora, are you here?"

"Well, that didn't take you long." The voice of her mother came from the dining room as the woman emerged. "I didn't expect you to come on the day of the murder, what with everyone being so distraught at the untimely death of dear Lord Barton. I hear his ring was stolen. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Lyon stepped toward her mother, taking the ring from her breasts and holding it out. "Unfortunately, I was escorted from the tournament before I could hear much of what happened. I was with father when he died. It's a very unfortunate occurrence."

Alora placed her hand out and Lyon dropped the ring into it. "Hmm, you did well, my child. Seems you were cut out for this business. As promised, the filth of the sewers will keep you protected." She pocketed the ring. "Should you wish to continue-"

"No," Lyon answered abruptly. "I can't kill again. I can't handle it- the feeling is... I felt wrong, mother. Dirty. Guilty and scared. I don't want to kill again."

"Oh, of course, my dear, of course." Alora came forward, cupping her daughters face in her hand. "You needn't do anything you do not wish to. It is enough to know you are faithful, and enough to know you will be safe." She wrapped Lyon in an embrace, short, but needed. Lyon felt calm at her mother's touch and sat in one of the nearby arm chairs upon her release. Alora left to do away with the ring for the time being.

The burning sage calmed Lyon. Sitting in the silence, she found her thoughts did not haunt her. It was good that she'd dealt with the matter immediately, lest the growing anxiety and guilt gnaw her mind away until only madness remained. All evidence was gone of her involvement. Her life was protected now. She was safe.

Her eyes had closed, the stillness of the world lulling her to a dreamless rest. Even in the blackness, the scent of sage pervaded the air. The rest seemed brief, like a simple blink, but when she opened her eyes again it was truly dark.

"You must return home. It's becoming late. Lord Stark must be very worried."

Lyon blinked the sleep from her eyes, her vision clearing so she could see Alora clearly sitting across from her. Her eyes darted to the window, and through a sliver in the curtain, she could see the night sky.

"Son of a- I've got to go. Father will be furious-"

"Go with haste, my child," Alora said. "And go in peace- nothing will harm you tonight."

Lyon left Alora's home in a mad dash, racing up the streets to reach the Red Keep. The shadows seemed to reach out at her, but as her mother had said, nothing did harm her that night. It was as quiet as could be, only beggars and outcasts watched with heavy eyes.

She reached the keep, red-faced and apologetic as the guard gave her a stern look. Barking a quick apology she ducked inside, hastily making way toward her own rooms. Lyon burst through her door and shut it behind her, legs tingling with the urge to continue running far, far away. She settled for standing at her window and bracing her hands against it- stretching the tension out of her legs. She waited for her impending doom and grimaced when he swung the door to her chambers open without even a knock.

"Where in the seven hells were you? I've had the guard out looking for you since I returned, have you any idea the worry you've caused me and your sisters? There was a murder today, Lyon. And you pick today to run rampant through the night?"

"Goodness, there's a murder every day, father. I lost track of time- I was safe. All is well now, and it will not be done again. I swear." She turned to face Ned Stark, the man red with worry. Despite the calm she exuded suddenly, he was not convinced.

"Yes, but you chose today. At night, as a woman- and my daughter, you can't be safe anywhere."

"Now I can." Her words came as all but a whisper. The mysticism behind it furrowed Ned's brow.

"What do you mean?"

"I..." Lyon glanced out of her periphery, catching sight of the guards lingering outside her rooms now. She sighed and straightened. "All I mean is that I am capable of defending myself, father. I believe I have proven that to you."

Her faint smile hid a tinge of sorrow, apologetic, even. Ned seemed to soften under the familiar look. "You swear you won't do it again?"

"I swear. You know I keep my promises, father."

"Very well." He finally relented with a deep sigh and waved a hand at his guard. "Go- but you- stay at her door. Make sure she's safe. As a precaution," he explained to her querying look, then shortly left. With a heavy sigh, she made for the wine on the table and graciously poured.


	16. Close Encounters

"A troubling event, this murder. Especially so at the time it happened. Fortunately, it didn't sour the day's festivities, but I hear you and your sweet sister, Sansa, retired for the evening shortly after."

"Yes, your Grace. Father thought it'd be best if we returned to the keep for fear of havoc breaking loose. A noble gesture, he was only trying to protect his daughters."

"A noble gesture indeed." The queen mused. Another morning spent breaking her fast with the queen. Lyon's stomach was much more settled now that the previous day had ended. "Seems you can't be caged either. You caused quite the disturbance with your disappearance yesterday evening. What with a murderer loose."

"Murderers run rampant everywhere, your Grace. This one just killed someone highly notable. No offense intended- I don't mean to speak ill of the deceased."

"No offense taken, Lyon. Besides, I hear Lord Barton was a fowl man. His own family doesn't take too kindly to him, I hear. The death he got was the death he deserved."

Lyon lifted her eyes to glimpse the cold expression on the queen's face and found herself nodding. "Then justice, as impure as it was, has been done."

"My dear," Cersei chuckled as she sipped her wine. "What makes you think justice is anything but?" Cersei met her eyes over her goblet and smiled grimly. "I've kept you for long enough, and we've since finished our meal. Please, reunite with your beloved family. I'm sure they eagerly await you."

"Thank you, your Grace. It has been a pleasure as always." Lyon rose and curtsied, taking her leave from the queen's company with her bitter words still ringing in her ears. Such a skeptical and bitter opinion that justice was impure. Especially for a queen whose job, by definition, was to keep justice. It was a curious state of things. Very curious.

For several days it was rather quiet. Little more was heard about the murder of Lord Barton, other than a man had been apprehended for the suspected murder. Apparently, he'd been boasting, drunk, about how he'd killed the man himself and even, somehow, sported the dead man's missing ring. Lyon felt no chill, knowing this man had been put away. There was a sense of relief instead. Good that someone else was arrested for the crime of murder and not she. Strange though, how he'd come across that ring. But that was all in the past now and not to fretted over for any longer.

Life had become quiet again. Lyon would break her fast with her queen, then return to her father and sisters with a book and take part in the conversation when needed. Arya's dancing lessons provided a much-needed activity that Lyon was becoming used to, and was often quite willing to escort her there and take part in. Syrio Florel had a way with the blade, and Lyon found his knowledge refreshing. The ache of her muscles after each session made for an easy night's sleep- dreamless and serene.

Yet there was one morning where her usual routine was disrupted. Queen Cersei did not call upon her as usual. There was no escort waiting to lead her to the Queen's dining quarters, so instead, she quietly made her way to her own family.

Only her father sat, so early in the morning, as breakfast was being dished out. Lyon let the aroma pervade her senses, and she smiled. "Good morning, father."

He looked up from his doings- a letter open before him- and smiled at Lyon. "You've decided to join us."

"The queen did not call upon me this morning, so I decided to take advantage of this opportunity. Where are Arya and Sansa?"

"They've been sent for."

"Hmm." Lyon reached for a pitcher of water from the table and poured. "Sansa is usually impossible to wake. That girl sleeps like a rock."

Ned chuckled and nodded his agreement. "So she is."

"What're you reading?" Lyon queried. She gestured to the letter open before him. The Stark seal had caught her eye as soon as she'd sat down. "From Winterfell?"

"Ah, yes. Your brother has woken up."

Lyon felt her hand seize her goblet, excitement in her grip as she looked to her father. "That's amazing news! Bran is alright, thank the Gods. Old and the New."

"Yes..." Ned trailed off. Lyon could see his jaw working anxiously.

"Alright, now what's the bad news?"

Ned folded the letter over, set it to the side. "I'm afraid he will never walk again."

"He... won't walk again. He won't even stand." A sudden sting came from behind her eyes, and several blinks still didn't take the feeling away. She stared into the contents of her goblet. It felt like an age ago she and her brothers had been practicing archery in the courtyard of Winterfell, and Bran has missed spectacularly, and the teasing of his elder brothers had ensued. Gods, how she missed her brothers. She felt as though she might never see them again.

"But he is sound of mind. He is recovering well."

"He'll never hold a bow again, father." She suddenly set her goblet away from her. "I want to see him."

"You know we can't return to Winterfell yet. Your mother will take care of him, Lyon."

"Right. Of course." She mumbled.

Arya and Sansa came one after the other, taking their seats at the table. Grins spread across their faces at the sight of their sister.

"You're not drunk!" Arya exclaimed and was met with a bat upside the head by Lyon, though the eldest held a hint of a smile.

"You shut up, or I'll dump all the wine in the Red Keep all over you during your dancing lessons."

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, but I would, dear sister. You have no idea what I'm capable of." Lyon giggled and shook the younger's shoulder in good nature before she and her family turned their attention to their meals. It was difficult to listen, after they had finished, as Ned explained to them the state of their youngest brother. Lyon remained silent, though Sansa and Arya burst with questions and fears. They wanted to see him, which was understandable. Lyon had had that thought almost immediately, but there was a great distance keeping the girls from the rest of their family.

"Regardless of his current condition, Bran will recover. He's a Stark, through and through. He is made of tougher stuff than we give him credit for." Lyon said. Her sisters seemed to calm at her conviction, although she wasn't sure she truly felt her own surety. Regardless, her meal was complete. She needed time to ponder and so she bid her sisters and father farewell and left.

Hours later Lyon found herself with her blade upon a private balcony. There was little noise save for the city below, and almost complete privacy. There was always the chance that someone may wander by, but it was common knowledge that there were two estranged Stark girls who had become fond of the blade.

Her longsword felt light in her hand, familiar and comfortable. She'd been using it frequently in the company of Syrio Florel, but rarely in any other instance. Now, in the privacy of her own company, she took a few steady swings, a hand placed behind her back. Lyon was lithe, with a balance rarely wavered anymore. Where her brute strength failed her, Syrio had trained her intelligence and cunning to disarm and defeat with the utmost efficiency. Though there was still far more training to be done, she felt surer with her weapon in hand.

She executed several maneuvers Syrio had taught her, becoming familiar as her blade moved through her hand's grip. She switched hands, evaluating the steadiness of the maneuver in her lesser grip. The two maneuvers were nearly equal- she'd become rather gifted with both hands.

"They say a Knight should learn to wield his weapon in both hands. I suppose a woman ought to learn the same, though a blade for a weapon? I should have expected that from a Stark girl."

Lyon froze, grimacing before turning to face Jaime Lannister, who lingered beneath one of the arches of the balcony. "You know, it's rude to sneak up on a lady. And I'm hardly a child, Ser Jaime."

"So you say. So, do you actually know how to use that thing or is it just for tricks and show?"

"When will you learn that insulting me when we meet will get you nowhere?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to see what will happen."

"And what are you hoping will happen, Jaime?" Lyon took several steps forward, standing before the knight, brows raised in silent challenge. The smirk- the one that would curl slowly until the mischief met his eyes, took form on his face. He liked how she'd gotten closer. He liked the fire in her eyes. Lyon reminded him of someone. He felt imperceptibly drawn to that.

"I'm not sure yet, Lady Lyon. How about we find out?" She glanced down, catching sight of his hand on the hilt of his own blade, and grinned despite herself. She stepped back as he unsheathed his sword, and she stood at the ready.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Lannister? You'll probably be reprimanded if we're found with my blade against your throat."

"And how do you know it won't be my blade against your throat?"

"That depends on how much trouble you want to get in." She began to chuckle, even as she made the first move, faster than Jaime could blink an eye. He caught the blur of silver-blonde hair in front of him, swirling as she spun, and heard the sound of steel hitting steel as he brought his own blade up to deflect her blow.

"You're fast, I'll give you that." He grinned, and with his greater strength her pushed her back, but she did not stumble. She sprung backward like a cat, spinning her blade for good measure. Lyon attacked again, still a blur but a familiar one now, and he deflected her blow. Using his own strength against him, she spun past him, letting his blade follow her as she stopped behind him and rammed her elbow into his ribcage. She spun back around to face him as he cried out in surprise and moved away.

"That was dirty." He chuckled. Lyon rolled back onto her heels, seemingly unperturbed.

"What, you don't like it when I'm dirty, Lannister?"

His brows shot up. Her cocky little grin stirred something in him that kept him rooted to the spot for a split second before her playful attitude got to him.

Now he lunged forward with a strength that she couldn't deflect, and she stumbled backward into the wall, grinning as he got the best of her, pinning her to it. But his brow furrowed. "You let me do that." He realized.

"I decided it wasn't much of a spar anymore." Lyon shrugged, tilting her chin up, eyeing the taller man. There was always a challenge in her eyes, as though she was always daring someone to do something. He found himself leaning forward. And she watched him, remaining still as his lips came closer to hers.

"Lannister."

Jaime turned away from her to look to the archway of their private balcony. Frustration filled him at the disturbance, and more so at the sight of the captain of Ned Stark's guard, Jory Cassel.

"Jory." Lyon breathed, though it wasn't of relief.

"Get off of her, Lannister." Jory had his hand braced on his blade as though in a threat. He seemed a little too eager to withdraw it, Jaime observed. He relented, though, and stepped away from Lord Stark's eldest daughter.

"Jory Cassel, come to join the fun? I'm sure there's enough here to go around."

The captain ignored him. "Lyon, come here."

Lyon's eyes met Jaime's for a split second. Until next time, they said, and she slipped away toward the archway, leaving the room, and leaving Jory and Jaime alone.

"If I catch you alone with her one more time, I'll have your head, Lannister."

Jaime sheathed his blade. "Upset she's not paying the same mind to you, Cassel?" He watched as Jory's jaw twitched in frustration, and he grinned. "I'll be damned, you are. I'll say this, I won't blame you. She's a fetching little thing, with an attitude to match. Little Lyon. That little lion has probably given your cock something to miss, eh Cassel?"

Jory was a flash as he lunged forward, pinning Jaime to the same wall he and Lyon had just been upon, except this time there was a very firm grasp around his throat.

"You will not speak like that about Lady Lyon. Rather, you won't speak about her at all. If you do, and I catch you, I'll have your tongue."

"You're rather worked up. You're not fucking her are you?" Jaime teased, and that was all that it was- except Jory became red with fury, and tightened his grip. Jaime choked briefly and uttered a strangled laugh. "You are fucking her! Oh, the Hand won't like that, will he? To betray your Lord Stark by fucking his daughter, no less."

Jory's hand fell from Jaime's throat, and the Lannister inhaled greatly, coming to rub his throat with a hand. He grimaced as he stumbled forward, but when he looked up, Jory was gone.


	17. Words Shared With Shadows

Lyon was sitting in her father's office, cross-legged and pondering over the book in her lap.

"I think you should stop spending so much time with the queen, Lyon." Her father said. She muttered a noncommittal response and flipped a page. "Lyon, look at me."

She did as she asked, folding her book over on her lap and meeting his eyes. "Does this have anything to do with how much you don't like her?"

Ned rolled his eyes. "This has everything to do with you getting too close to her. The queen is not to be trusted, Lyon. No one in Kingslanding is. That's the way the south is. Besides, your sisters and I both miss your company." A sudden sorrow found his eyes, and she sighed.

"I am to meet with her tonight. I'll... I'll discuss your concerns with you. And I'll make them sound like it's my idea, for all the good it'll do you." She reopened her book, and Ned leaned back in his seat, content for now. He missed quiet afternoons such as this one, where he and Lyon would simply sit. He found she enjoyed the silence, but also the company. They had started reading together when she was just a child, and it had since stuck. "Speaking of my sisters, where's Arya?"

"No idea," he sighed. "I have my guard out looking for her. I think she takes after you."

"I think she takes after her father." Lyon grinned slyly, meeting her father's eyes from her periphery.

A knock upon the door drew their attention away.

"Come in," Ned ordered. The door eased open, and in came a disheveled Arya, covered in grime and mud. She looked a real sight, Lyon thought.

"Speak of the devil." The eldest grinned. "You've seen better days, Arya. Which gutter did you crawl through this time?"

"All of them." The littler replied, a mischievous smirk aimed at her sister, but she became solemn when she turned to her father.

"You know I had half my guard out searching for you. You said this would stop, Arya."

"They said they were going to kill you." She said. Lyon perked up, depositing her book on her father's desk.

"Who did?" Her father asked.

"I didn't see them, but I think one was fat."

"Oh, Arya."

"I'm not lying! They said you found the bastard and the wolves are fighting the lions and the savage... Something about the savage. And... and they mentioned you, Lyon."

Lyon rose from her seat and came to stand before her sister. "What did they say, Arya?"

"They said... they said you had lion's blood. They... think you're a Lannister."

Lyon exchanged a look with Ned, who asked: "Where did you hear this?"

"In the dungeons. Near the dragon skulls."

"What were you doing in the dungeons?"

"Chasing a cat," Arya said.

Lyon nearly rolled her eyes at her sister but fought the urge. She turned her back on the two and folded her arms over the chest. So, someone had come to suspect she wasn't a Stark. She should've expected this. It was so obvious. Such a Lannister like countenance could hardly be blamed on the Tully blade she could claim she had.

Another knock upon the door knocked her out of her thoughts. Lyon turned just as Jory Cassel poked his head through the door.

"Pardon, my Lord. There's a Night's Watchman here begging a word. He says it's urgent."

There was a brief moment where Jory met Lyon's eyes, but she turned away.

"Excuse me," she said quietly and slipped through the door past Jory, the Night's Watchmen standing idly by, and her sister.

"Jory," she could hear as she walked away. "Make sure she and Arya are returned safely to their rooms."

Lyon cursed under her breath and paused to wait for the two to catch up. She avoided Jory's eyes the best she could.

"Jory," Arya began, "How many guards does my father have?"

"Here in King's Landing?"

"Fifty." Lyon said, meeting their eyes. "I counted."

"You wouldn't let anyone kill him, would you?" Arya asked. There was a certain fear in her eyes that Lyon didn't take kindly to.

"No fear on that account, little Lady." He said with a faint smile. They walked for a little longer before depositing the young girl in her rooms, leaving Jory and Lyon outside. Alone.

She turned to walk first, and he fell in step beside her. They were both silent, an unspoken tension between them. They knew it wasn't safe to speak, not in these halls. When they finally reached Lyon's quarters, he stepped inside behind her, much to the displeasure of the knot growing in Lyon's stomach.

"So you're going after Lannisters now, is that it?" He leaned against the door, arms folded over his chest.

She sighed, made way for the wine decanter and poured. "I'm not going after anyone. It was harmless fun, is all. And so is this, Jory. Harmless fun. We don't love each other, and even if we did, we couldn't. Not with us being who we are."

"You think I don't know that?" He sprang forward from the door. His voice had risen, and Lyon's grip on her wine had tightened as he came closer to her. "I can't help whatever it is I feel, Lyon. And no matter what I feel, it is still unwise for you to chase after the Kingslayer."

"Don't call him that." She grumbled and sipped her wine.

"Why? How long have you been... cavorting with him?"

"I'm not cavorting with anybody except you, you dunce! The man is a knight, for God's sake. It was harmless fun. And he doesn't like it when people call him Kingslayer, from what I've heard."

"Why do you care what he doesn't like?"

"Because I'm not a complete arse! And for the same reason I do not call his brother 'The Imp'. It's rude, and I certainly wouldn't enjoy it if people called me what I really am."

"And what's that? A Lannister? There's been talk that you aren't what you seem. You've been spending so much time with the queen as of late- some would think you trust her more than your own father."

Lyon's knuckles had become white as she clutched the goblet in her hand.

"Get out."

"Lyon-"

"I said get out you filthy rat bastard! Get out, and don't you dare show your face in here again or I swear, I'll have your fucking head." Her hand found her blade from her mattress, her eyes glowing with madness, and the same madness seeming as though it was reflected in the steel of her blade. Jory watched the green of her eyes- watched as they glowed like wildfire. He backed toward the door, and each step he took back, she took forward.

"Jaime knows. About us."

"You can't do anything right, can you?" She hissed, her voice hardly recognizable anymore. The tip of her blade rose to his throat- and he slipped out of her room before she could draw blood.

"Your Grace, it is with deep regret that I ask you this, but it has come to my attention that I have been neglecting my family- my sisters. I would appreciate it if, for awhile, I may take my meals with them so that we may resume our meals in the future."

The Queen sat quietly, watching Lyon stand in front of her, hands folded behind her. Though Lyon did meet the queen's eyes; the queen could admire the girl's straight forwardness, though she sensed another meaning behind this confrontation.

"If that is what you wish, then of course. I would hate to keep you from your own family, my dear." The queen agreed, polite and curt. Lyon met the woman's gaze with a smile.

"Thank you, your Grace. I truly appreciate it."

As she made to leave, she heard the queen chuckle. "Of course, my little lion. But remember, you have more than one family now."

Lyon sat. Quiet and pondering, Arya cross-legged next to her as she absentmindedly flipped her blade. Lyon's hand slipped over and under the grip, never once losing the natural balance she had with her blade.

Arya came to stand beside her sister. "Why do they think you're a Lannister?"

Lyon grasped her blade as her sibling came close, then set it over her lap. "Because I don't look like a Stark."

"But you are a Stark, aren't you?"

"Of course!" Lyon twisted to eye her sister. She felt her brow draw downward. "It's just talk. Stark blood has and always will run through me, Arya. We are wolves. There isn't a drop of lion blood in me, I swear it on my own life."

"Those men seemed so sure." Arya sad. She gradually sat beside Lyon. "I think... I think you should let them believe you are."

The older cocked her head to the side. "Why's that?"

"Someone is trying to hurt father, I know it. I don't want them to hurt you too. And Lanni-"

"Lannisters protect their own." Lyon finished with a sigh. She leaned back against the wall where she sat. "You really heard someone saying they were going to hurt father?"

"I did. I promise."

"Then its the truth. And I'm going to get to the bottom of it. You said one of them was... large, correct?" Arya nodded. "Then I'll start the search there. And you-" Lyon poked Arya in the shoulder. "-are going to stay out of it. For now. As you said, I may have extra protection. And I've been playing this game for a long time."

Arya stared up at her older sister, frustration in the draw of her brow, but she finally relented to Lyon's decisions. "Fine."

"That's a good girl." Lyon murmured, and pulled her sister close. "I won't let anything bad happen to father- or any of us. I promise." She patted Arya's hair, but their heartfelt moment was cut short. A soft knock upon the door drew them apart, and they both rose to their feet.

"Come in," Lyon called. The door opened ajar, revealing the head of one of Ned Stark's guard- at least he was dressed like one of her father's guard men. The face of Raphael would stick in her mind forever.

"Might I speak with you, Lady Lyon?"

"Of course. Excuse me, Arya." She rose to her feet with her blade's hilt in hand. She had a second thought, then sheathed the blade and exited the room to stand outside with Raphael. They closed the door, walking several feet away.

"Now how did you manage that disguise, hm?" Lyon folded her arms and faced the man, who'd begun to smile.

"I have been at this game for a long time, my dear. I came to congratulate you on your endeavor, however it is rather unfortunate that you do not wish to work with us anymore. My sister was quite disappointed."

"I'm sure you understand that I have my reasons."

"Of course, of course. But don't you have more reasons to continue your valuable work, hm? What with all that has been coming and going. I did hear that a certain Lady of Winterfell has apprehended a certain dwarf."

Lyon grimaced. "She didn't..."

"Oh, but she did. I think it's a good idea to evaluate who is friend, and who is foe at this time, dear Lyon. Things are changing, faster than they seem to be. And though you have our protection... your mother does not." Raphael turned to walk away, and Lyon let him. She waited until he had disappeared around the corner, then she returned to her room.

It wasn't a threat, was it? She couldn't get that niggling thought out of the back of her head. She was his niece, and though they hadn't known each other for long, that had to mean something... right? But she was forgetting that Kingslanding was not the same as Winterfell. No, perhaps it wasn't a threat. Perhaps he was right.

If he was, then there was a greater number than just her mother who did not have the protection that they needed in the future.

Lyon peered into Arya's room, finding the younger girl swinging needle, skillfully replicating the maneuvers she remembered Syrio taught them.

"I'm going to speak with father, alright?"

Arya stopped her practice. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Not at all. I just wish to speak to him, is all." Arya shrugged her permission, and Lyon closed the door behind her before making her way to her father's chambers. They weren't a far stretch, rather close by. She introduced herself with a short series of knocks upon the door, and let herself inside when she heard his invitation.

He was sat at his desk, frowning over a series of parchment.

The door closed behind Lyon. "Is it true that mother has taken Tyrion?"

Ned sharply lifted his head. "Who told you that?"

"People talk. Too much. Is it true then?"

"I... yes. It is true."

"Then we're all doomed. Lovely." She strode toward an empty chair and slumped into it with a deep exhale. "I wish she'd get over this silly notion that Tyrion attacked Bran."

"Why do you trust him so much then?"

"It's not trust. I just happen to be an excellent judge of character."

"So you say." He murmured. Lyon's gaze flashed to him in displeasure before settling back to simply staring at one of the wall, or the curtains, or the curls of parchment upon the desk.

"What are we going to do?"

"You aren't going to do anything. I am going to do my best to... put your mother's actions behind us."

"Meaning you don't actually know what to do." Lyon chuckled. "I wonder if she ever thought about the impact her actions would have on us here? We're in the lion's domain. She might as well be a madwoman."

"She is your mother, and you will treat her with respect, Lyon." Ned rose, hands bracing on either side of his desk. His voice had undertaken an authoritative tone that Lyon only glared at him for.

"She's my mother as much as you are my father. And she has endangered us all." Lyon rose as well, turning on her heel as she left her father's rooms. Her fingernails dug deep into the palm of her hand, and each footstep down the hall seemed to boom. She hardly paid any mind to the steward as she haughtily sauntered past and into the privacy of her own chambers.

She took her nails from her palm and made way to the decanter, letting the wine and blood mingle with little thought.


	18. A Deal Struck

Lyon watched the shadows from under the door. There were two from what she could tell, with armored feet that made loud footsteps outside. The wine had forced her to sit, lest she tip over. It was difficult to remember when she had first noticed the shadows, but they had been there for some time. The sun had begun to set, and after a brief discussion between her two keepers at her door, which sounded only like nonsensical mumbling, she had clumsily pulled her chair to sit and watch them. She imagined they were her father's guard. Perhaps he'd taken what she had said to heart, though it was doubtful.

Raphael's words had been pounding through her mind in sync with the growing ache in her temple. A dull ball of burning fear had settled at the base of her throat- or maybe it was just the wine trying to come back up. Lyon had long since opened her window for air, but the breeze did little. While the wine made her rather warm, the evening air made her fingers tremble, although that couldn't be entirely attributed to the strangely cool evening.

There was a very strange feeling to this evening. She decided that rather quickly.

There was no sense in simply sitting through it, she decided soon after.

Lyon rose gradually, finding her feet as they came to her. She set her goblet down, lightly easing the door open and she came to it. Her assumption had been right. Two of her father's guards stood outside her door.

"What's the meaning of two guards posted outside my door tonight, hm?"

They both turned to her. She barely caught their eyes briefly meeting. "Lord Stark sent us, my Lady."

"Don't 'my Lady' me. Why did he send you two gentlemen to my door?"

"To... guard you, my- ahem."

Lyon's brow raised. "You spectacular buffoon. I'll go find out myself then." She made to leave.

"Wait!" The other guard spoke up, this one several years the other's senior. He had a gruff look about him that Lyon could appreciate. She stopped several paces away and cast a look over her shoulder. "Your father... he's been injured, my Lady."

She blinked several times. "Excuse me?"

"He took about a dozen of his guard into Kingslanding, but he was attacked by Jaime Lannister. Jory was slain, and your father injured but-"

"Stop. Stop. Where is he?"

"He was brought back not long ago. He is resting in his chambers and is being seen to."

Lyon didn't bother uttering thanks of any sort. She sped down the hallway as fast as her legs could take her, though stumbling several times. When she made it to her father's rooms, several guards stood outside. None tried to stop her as she entered. They could see the frantic worry in her eyes.

Ned Stark lay upon his bed, a physician close by, wrapping the gaping wound that had slashed through Ned's leg. Lyon came to his side, sitting upon the closest armchair and scooting herself closer.

"He'll be alright, won't he?"

The physician looked up from his work, a vague frown upon his lip. "In due time."

That was all that was needed to silence Lyon, yet she didn't move from her spot. Not once did she rise from her chair that night. Sleep came every now and then to take her for a couple of hours at a time, but not for too long. Such worrisome thoughts wouldn't allow her to succumb to anything more than sporadic naps. Dreams didn't take her either, however, the sickening thought of never seeing Jory again seemed to plague her throughout the night. Ned's feverish hand she would reach for, but the stillness of it offered little comfort. Every now and then her finger would touch the spot where his heart would beat through his wrist, and she'd find reassurance with his steady pulse.

It wasn't until late in the morning that they were both awake at the same time. Lyon saw his eyes crack open first.

"Good morning, father." Her voice was hoarse and meek from dehydration and worry, but she didn't care. As her father's eyes met her own, she found a small weight lift from her shoulders.

"Lyon... when did you get here?"

"Yesterday evening. I was told you'd been attacked and that- that Jory was killed." Saying it out loud was harder than she thought it would have been. Tears pricked at her eyes like tiny needles, until they welled and fell. She let them fall. "Is he really dead?"

Weakly, Ned nodded. A quiet sob burst from Lyon.

"I'm sorry. I knew you looked up to him. I knew he was kind to you." Lyon lifted her gaze to meet his. She attempted a smile, but it was too pitifully difficult to hold. The muscles in her face felt too weak.

"He was very kind. I'm going to miss him... but I thank the gods you're safe now, and that you didn't meet the same fate." Lyon masked a sniffle. "How are you feeling?"

"Ah, my leg has been better."

He was relieved to find she smiled faintly. "So it has... What do you want me to tell Arya and Sansa?"

"No sense in worrying them, hm? Tell them I am fine. Only a scratch."

"And about..." Lyon tightened her lips. Gods, it was hard even to say his name.

"You needn't tell them that, my dear. Now go, rest and be there for your sisters."

Lyon leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss upon her father's brow before taking her leave. Briefly, she saw the King and Queen standing outside, and she curtsied as she should, and left.

But she didn't go to her room, nor either of her sisters' rooms. She made for down the hall, and out of the keep. Quick was her feet now that the drunkenness had gone away, but she could feel sluggishness creeping up on her.

Not enough that she didn't slip into the city sewer system with ease.

"So, you've returned! I'm surprised to see you've remembered your way to us, but you are your mother's daughter."

"So I am. I assume you've already heard about what happened to my father?"

Raphael pursed his lips, glancing over his feet to appraise Lyon's countenance. He sat with them upon his desk, and she stood across from him with bags under her eyes and trembling hands. He would have to train that out of her.

"Word has passed, yes. I am sorry about the loss of your lover."

Lyon's jaw clenched. "That's not what I'm here to discuss."

"So it isn't. Rather forward, you are. I can respect that. Now, who is it you want us to protect? You mother? Bedridden father? Crippled brother?"

"I will take eight lives for you. You will protect the Stark family. My brothers, sisters, and mother and father."

Raphael removed his feet from his desk and leaned forward. "They won't all be like poisoning Lord Barton, you know. You will sink your blade into a man's heart and take his life. Do you think you can do that?"

Lyon narrowed her bloodshot eyes. "I find it more preferable than poisoning a man while straddling him to a chair."

She almost detested the way Raphael's eyes lit up with glee. "So be it then, dear cub. Eight lives. I will give you names, and you will give me their lives like a good girl. When I have the first name, I will see to it that you receive it."

"I look forward to working together." Lyon stepped forward and outstretched her hand, much to her uncle's surprise. He grinned anyway, and the deal was struck.

Lyon had slunk into her bed as soon as she could, forgetting about the task of telling her sisters of their father's condition. Her exhaustion swept over, unavoidable and taunting her into bed rest. She swept right past her sister's chambers and into her own, not waking until the next morning. She awoke to a troubling sight.

Lyon became suspicious of Raphael's doing as soon as she caught sight of the sealed letter laying upon her pillow. Tentatively, she reached for it and broke the seal. The contents did not surprise her- he was quick to give her her task. This life, some gambling man who frequented a specific brothel with the money he won for the night, for the safety of Arya. She would take this man's life. The thought didn't sicken her as much as she thought it would.

With a lantern within her room, she burned the letter away until not a single trace of it remained. Then, gradually, she began to prepare for the day.

Her stomach ached for nourishment, so she made her way to where her family typically broke their fast. She found Arya and Sansa seated quietly. Ned sat at the head of the table, a cane at his side.

"You've finally deigned to join us." He said. Something like guilt found Lyon. Her father looked ill. His flesh was so pale it seemed translucent.

"I-I'm sorry. Are you sure you should be up? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Perhaps, but the King has expressed increasing urgency in me resuming my work as hand."

"Greedy bastard. Doesn't he see that you're injured? Gods, if Jaime Lannister didn't kill you then Robert sure as hell-"

"Enough! Sit, Lyon. Do not speak of your king like that." Lyon snapped her mouth closed and sat. "Where were you?"

"Out. I needed time to think. When I came back I slept for longer than I expected. I'm sorry."

Ned tapped his fingers against the table. The sound seemed to hammer Lyon's eardrums. "From now on you will not leave the Keep without two of my guards to accompany you. That goes for all of you."

"You can't be serious. I can defend myself." Lyon argued. Her voice rose despite herself, and not even the stern look of her father could make her quiet. "Is this to keep us cramped into our chambers all day? You can't expect us to stay in here all day."

"I do, and you will. You've been spending enough time loitering around the city and avoiding your lessons. Septa Mordane says she hasn't seen you in several days."

"I'm afraid I've learned all I can for the Septa's lessons. Most women my age are married by now, you know. Or have you forgotten?"

His eyes hardened. For a moment it was only Lyon and Ned, arguing among themselves again. But Sansa and Arya were listening closely, looking none too comfortable with the morning's proceedings.

Ned would not back down though. "You will have an escort, or you will remain in your rooms."

"How unfortunate." Lyon rose, a cold unfamiliar tone coming to her voice. She removed herself from their company without another word.

Way too put a damper on my murders, she thought.


	19. In A Night's Work

Lyon was extremely aware she was handling the situation like a petulant child, but her anger had blossomed rather quick- quicker than she had. After Jory's death, she found herself with a tear-stained pillow, each night bringing a new bout of sobs that wracked her to the core. Her bed sheets held his faint scent, and that was enough to turn her into a sobbing mess. She was sure the guards outside could hear her, but a certain point came and passed where she failed to care any longer who heard her. It was hard enough having to wake up every morning to face the day, let alone hide the pain.

Several days had passed. Despite her anger toward her containment in the keep, she could hardly bring herself to leave. Often a thought would rise about her "assignment", but her exhaustion would take her in its grasp faster than she was able to plot. Raphael would be getting impatient soon. Whether she liked it or not, Lyon would have to find a way out of the keep without drawing attention to herself. And without using the front door.

She kept her distance from her bed, knowing that even the slightest reminder of Jory would be her downfall. A clear head was what she needed, and she hadn't yet begun to cry that night. There was still hope that she could find her target and do away with him that night. If she could get outside.

Lyon tried her room's door, finding the two guards standing alert nearby. As she walked, they began to follow. For several minutes she pretended that she hadn't noticed, but they were soon close enough to truly be noticed. She wondered how to lose them. Turning around and simply asking would be a fruitless endeavor, no doubt. Losing them around a corner- perhaps? The oldest trick in the book but it had proven reliable to her before. 

They kept behind her as Lyon seemingly made to stretch her legs. She didn't acknowledge, which typically would be unusual behavior, but the guards doing their rounds heard her at night. A depression had sunk its way into Lyon's chest.

The guards watched her as she went, and followed. They were still several paces away from her when she turned a corner and was briefly torn from their watchful eyes. She remained absent even as they turned the corner. They uttered instructions to each other and split up, one going another way than the other until neither stood before the closet door just around the corner. When their footsteps faded from earshot, the closet door slid ajar, and Lyon slipped out. She hurried from the Keep, ducking into the shadows as guards would pass or come near. None seemed to notice her as she swept past, into the kitchen, and out the door that led into the courtyards. She took a running leap at the wall surrounding the keep, vaulted over and landed in her freedom. Then, she began to hunt.

Raphael hadn't named the brothel, but the man's name was enough. And by the sound of him, Lyon would hardly need anything more than the dagger concealed within her boot. Albeit a dress was hardly proper attire to go murdering in, it was all she had at the moment, and it hid her weapon wonderfully. She only hoped the hem didn't catch at her feet. At least her gown wasn't so extravagant that passerby pegged her for someone of importance. Unfortunately, she was a familiar face. That would have to change.

The streets were filled with beggars and scoundrel. Some women, some men, many of them only children. They paid her little mind other than a few wide-eyed stares. One of them Lyon approached, letting her face become obscure in the darkness.

"I'm looking for a man. Rolan Drumm. You know him?"

The beggar, a scruffy man who seemed in his forties although Lyon couldn't be sure, eyes her from head to toe. He squinted her face, trying to make out her features in the dark. She rustled a coin purse, distracting his curious gaze from recognizing her features.

"I'll pay you handsomely whether or not you know. Just tell me the truth. If you lie to me, I'll know." She dropped the purse in his hands and folded her arms.

Sputtering, the man spoke. "Th-the slimy bastard goes to Gold's Dust every night, bragging to the ladies about his winning and how rich he is. Blows all his 'earnings' there every night. Always goes back for more. That's all I know."

"Good man." Lyon offered generously. She clapped him on the back, and before the homeless could speak again, she was into the shadows again. Gold's Dust was a place she knew of through passing, as it was with most places. Lyon was sure she knew the darkest corners of Kingslanding better than she knew the many rooms of the Red Keep. Tonight she would get to know those dark corners even better, it seemed.

Gold's Dust wasn't that far off from Alora's own home, and the outside was dimly lit in red candles and light, golden banners and stained windows that shimmered in the moonlight. This wasn't a run of the mill brothel, she assumed. Upon entering, she found herself correct. There was the cacophony of moans echoing through the establishment. The scent of sex and sweat pervading every scent and making the room familiarly muggy. A woman caught Lyon's eye and made her way forward, each sultry step making Lyon remember her own romps within similar walls.

"You look lost, little lamb. Let me show you how to get home." She reached for Lyon's hand, the woman's delicate grasp enticing her further. The woman was curvaceous to say the least. Thighs twice as thick as Lyon's own- she imagined all the men that had been between them. She imagined herself in their place and felt herself flush with heat.

"I-I think I've stepped into the wrong establishment." She murmured, pulling her hand away and fleeing outside. Lyon stopped short in the shadows outside of the building. Perhaps it would be wiser to test her luck by simply waiting for the man.

She didn't count the minutes, only watched the moon move in its path across the sky. It was over halfway through its journey when a man emerged from the brothel, chuckling drunkenly. He rubbed at his crotch. A few coins fell.

Lyon perked up at the noise. "Hello?" She called. The man did acknowledge her. Louder, this time. "Hello?"

The man turned, staggering drunkenly in place. "Yeh? W-whose there?"

"No one important." She replied. "Are you the Rolan Drumm I've been hearing so much about?"

"That I am- an uh, where are yuh? I've not got me spectacles on." 

Lyon slipped from the shadows and stepped toward the drunkard, halted several paces away. He squinted at her, then grinned. It made him look young. Lyon hardly saw him as being older than her own father. As he saw her, he began to inch forward. "Why you're a pretty thing, aren't yuh?"

"Something tells me you've had your fair share of pretty things tonight." She said, her husky voice seemed to draw him forward. Each step he took, she took one back. Then they were both in the shadows.

"Aye, but I've got quite the... quite the endurance."

"How unfortunate."

"Why's tha?" He slurred. Lyon cocked her head, glistening green eyes reflecting the moonlight as she shook her head.

"Because someone wants you dead, Drumm."

He hadn't noticed her slip the dagger from her boot, neither did he register the thrust as she plunged the blade deep into his rib-cage, covering his outcry from escaping with her other hand. He didn't cry out long though, as she felt his body slump over her blade. Lyon withdrew her hand and blade and stepped away as the dead man collapsed. She eyed his corpse for several minutes after his desk, making sure he didn't rise again. Once sure that Rolan Drumm would not awaken again, Lyon took her leave of the scene and slunk back toward the Red Keep.

When she returned, the guards found her in the kitchens, munching sleepily on some bread. She seemed exhausted- too exhausted to return to her rooms, and one of the guards carried her back to her chambers.

"What in the seven hells do you mean we're leaving?" Lyon all but cried out in frustration. The septa had found her in her room, sleeping with little trace of a conscious. Lyon wasn't sure what worried her more. The septa's news, or her own guiltless conscience.

Septa Mordane sighed and went to sit at the end of her bed. "By your father's orders, you are to pack your belongings. He intends to return you and your sisters to Winterfell."

"I can't say I blame him, but why now, septa? Sansa and Arya surely didn't take this news well."

"They surely did not." She agreed. "But he is doing it to protect you all. Kingslanding it not as safe. Not since your father was attacked."

"Kingslanding was never safe, regardless of my father being attacked. This damn place is full of snakes."

"Not snakes. Lion's, my dear."

Lyon met her septa's heavy eyes and found herself agreeing. "I will pack my things, and leave as my father bids. It is the safest option."

"I'm glad you think so." The septa rose, planting a kiss on the girl's forehead before taking her leave. Lyon was alone again, and as he had been told, she began to pack her belongings. It hardly took long, with what little she brought with her. Soon enough the chest of hers was full and locked shut. She only took a moment to eye her barren chambers before exiting her room and treading down the hall. The guard at her door began to follow closely. After the incident with them finding her in the kitchens, they preferred to keep a much closer eye on the slippery Stark.

There was a burst of noise from down the hall when she emerged, and elsewhere in the keep.

"What's going on?" She murmured, too herself mostly, but the guard following her answered.

"The King's hunting party, most likely."

"Sounds a little too frantic to be a warm welcome, don't you think?" She exchanged a look with the guard before they both quickened their pace down the hall. They took a flight of stairs down to the Keep's entrance, where a throng of soldiers and guards lingered. Lyon briefly caught sight of a portly body being carried along, a physician remaining at less than arms reach from the body even as they hurried onward. His hands were covered in blood.

"Is that-"

"The King. Yes." The guard answered her, and Lyon fell silent.

"Gods help him." She murmured under her breath. "Gods help my father."

The guard looked down at her in puzzlement, but Lyon's face was remarkably blank. She turned and made her way back up the steps, the image of the King's blood, and her victims blood flashing dangerously in the back of her mind.


	20. Religious Experiences

Lyon had unpacked her belongings when she reached her chambers. Slowly, trying to keep her fears from churning her stomach. Robert Baratheon was likely on his deathbed. There would be no leaving Kingslanding for a long while yet. Seeing Bran would have to wait. She supposed that was alright. Lyon still had quite a bit of unfinished business.

She left her rooms to wander the halls idly. A guard followed her mindlessly and she did little to pay him any mind. He was the same that accompanied her before- the one who shared the sight of Robert Baratheon's bloodied body. Soon to be a corpse, she thought.

"I wish to see my father." She said to nobody in particular, but the guard suddenly took the lead and she followed. Through the halls, he led her, until they stood before her father's chambers. "Remain outside." She ordered, and the guard relented as she slipped inside without even a knock.

The room was empty. No hair in sight of Ned Stark- he was probably seeing to the King. She decided to sit and wait, even as the door slipped open and a hand found her shoulder. Lyon turned her head slightly and sighed.

"My assignment has been dealt with."

"So it has." Raphael mused. He sauntered to the desk, catching eye of haphazardly strewn paperwork. He sat before her, upon Ned's desk. "You did well, but there's only so much praise I can give you. The body was found almost immediately after. It speaks of sloppiness."

"You never said I had to do anything but kill him."

"In our line of work, there is a reputation to uphold. If his body had been disposed of then no one would know it was a murder. We don't want to guard coming and investigating. If we left everybody we dealt with out in the open we wouldn't be operational, would we?"

"I... I suppose not." She replied.

Raphael beamed. He reached a hand, taking hold of her chin. "Such a good girl. And as assured, your little sister Arya will be kept safe and sound. You have my word. Now, I assume you wish to continue with your work."

Lyon bit back the bile that was rising. "Of course."

"Good, good. There is a woman, Alaya. She's a... competition of sorts. But messy. Very, very messy. She'll likely be tailing noblemen and women who venture into the market. You see, stealing their belongings isn't enough for her. The thrill of the kill sates her for a time, but it's been a while since we've last heard tell of her. Do as you do. Patrol the market place, it won't be strange. Everyone knows Lyon Stark is fond of shopping by now."

Raphael rose as footsteps began to advance down the hall. He lifted his eyes, then they darted to the window. "I'll be seeing you shortly."

His apparel was a blur as he swept out of the window and disappeared, and at the same time, Ned Stark entered his rooms.

"Lyon-" he uttered, brows high in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

It didn't take long for her recollect her senses. "The King lays on his death bed, doesn't he?"

Her forwardness was beginning to deter him, what with the day's occurrences. "Yes."

"And Joffrey will be king?"

Ned came forward at sat at his desk adjacent to Lyon. He eyed the parchment in his hand, shaking his head. "Joffrey will not be king until he comes of age. Until then, Robert has named me protector of the realm in his passing."

"How lucky for us then. Here I was, packing my things when... King Robert Baratheon is marched into the Red Keep, bleeding like a-"

"Lyon." 

She nodded solemnly. "Alas, he is my King. May the Old Gods and the New preserve him."

"Yes. Now, is there anything else you wish to speak of?" 

Lyon shook her head and rose, eye downcast with her thoughts. "No. I just wanted to be sure. I'll... I'll pray for the King tonight at the Sept of Baelor. I... I think I'll head there tonight."

"As you wish. Be safe, bring an escort."

"Of course, father. Farewell." 

She took her leave of his presence, knowing that an escort would be following her whether she liked it or not, and it was typically the ladder. It was as if as soon as her foot was out of the door, she was being followed by her royal escort. An unfortunate damper to her already grim day.

Unfortunately, it was about to get worse.

As requested, Lyon's personal guard left her to her privacy within the Sept, standing outside, and out of sight. Holding to her word, she knelt and prayed for the King's life. Although she didn't consider herself a woman of religion or faith, praying had been a habit she'd acquired when she was younger and it had steadily decayed the more she grew toward Theon Greyjoy. Of course, he hadn't been the best influence. He taught her how to fuck. And then she wanted to learn more, her hunger for the knowledge unsatisfied. Eventually, she knew better than the one that taught her. It shaped her into who she was.

Strange that she was thinking about that now while in a place of holiness. 

Strange that she was about to defile the vacant holy ground in many other ways.

The doors to the sept were not small, and so it was rather obvious that the Sept welcomed a newcomer with the telltale creak as it moved open, followed by footsteps. From her peripheral, knelt before one of the towering statues, Lyon could see the auburn-haired woman in tunic and trousers make her way to the outskirt of the room, then her eyes landed on Lyon.

"I hear you've been asking about me. You're that Stark girl, yeah?"

"The one and only." She responded, and came to stand. "And you're Alaya. I'd heard you were pretty but... Well, this is surprising."

"You like what you see then?" 

"Quite... You know, I've never made love in a Sept before." She turned her eyes to the marble slab in the middle of the room, then her hooded eyes found Alaya.

The assassin snorted. "So that's what I'm here for? To be some Lady's forbidden entertainment?"

"Who says I wouldn't be the one entertaining you? After all, I've heard some things about you. How you prefer the company of a woman... You aren't the only one. Apparently, you are good at what you do."

"It depends on what you've heard about what I do." Alaya was stepping forward, coming closer as Lyon laid a hand on the marble slab in contemplation.

"I've heard you know how to fuck like no other, and I am a woman who desires forbidden fruits. As are you." Lyon hopped upon the slap, spreading her legs, lifting her dress above her knees and bunching the fabric just between her legs at the base of her hips. Alaya's firm calloused hands came to grip Lyon's thighs. "We connoisseurs, we have to stick together."

"I concur." With a hard pull, Lyon was pulled into Alaya and wrapped her legs around the woman's waist. Their lips met, wild and carefree as Alaya's neediness met with the natural fervor in which Lyon met their rendezvous with. 

The only problem now was that Lyon had to kill her.

She let Alaya have her way with her, pulling away the fabric of her skirts, going down and setting her warm mouth against the junction of Lyon's legs and hungrily licking and sucking. It lasted longer than Lyon had expected, but before long, Alaya was suddenly upon the floor, eyes bulging in astonishment. 

Lyon fixed her skirts and dismounted the marble slab, wiping herself with a handkerchief, removing residue of Alaya's hunger, and that which was killing her.

"It's only painful for a little while. You'll be dead soon, Alaya. Raphael sends his regards."

Alaya's eyes widened and she struggled to rise, but the life drained from her body before long, and she collapsed, eyes gaping toward the mosaic of the Gods on the ceiling above. Lyon took the woman's arms and dragged her toward one the cleaning closets and pushed the body inside, closing the doors. She wiped her hands upon her skirts and took her leave. 

Outside, her escort was waiting.

"I've prayed as much as I can for the King. May her persevere through this trying time."

"Aye." One of the guards agreed, and they began their march back to the Keep.

The bitterness of shame hung around Lyon like a cloak, but she held her head high. All in a night's work. All for her family. She would see this done, and see them safe until the very end.


	21. Secrets in The Garden

Lyon felt the telltale coolness in the air when she awoke, her eyes needed not to open to be aware of his presence. "Good morning, Raphael."

"Sleep well, dear niece?" His weight settled into the foot of her bed.

"Like the dead." She mumbled, finally opening her eyes and pushing herself up and onto her elbows. She caught sight of a wrapped package held in his arms and her brow furrowed. "What's that?"

"A gift from your family. As poetic as it is to fuck in Septs and kill your lover while looking like a true lady, perhaps a disguise is warranted for further endeavors." He held the package out to her, and with a wary look, she received it and took away the wrapping. Within was a sleek set of black girded leather armor. They were well made. Sturdy. Fashionable, even.

"Do you not approve of my methods?" She lightly touched the fabric of the black shirt, not meeting Raphael's eyes.

"They are... curious. Many women employ their sex as a means to get a job done. It is your decision to use your body as you like. So long as the job gets done. I commend you, however. Not even I knew of Alaya's, uh... interests."

"It was a guess. I told my mother to spread the word that Alaya had company waiting for her at the Sept. If she came, I was right. If she didn't, I was wrong."

"Smart to use the Sept, but perhaps dangerous. Do you not fear your afterlife?"

"I think I fear life more. Look what happened to Alaya. She was alive. Once." Raphael chuckled heartily, but Lyon's face was blank as she set the package aside. "Which of my family have you chosen to deem safe now?"

"Your sister Sansa will fall under our watchful gaze now." Raphael rose. "And I will see you again when your next task reaches my ears."

He vanished out the window. All that was left was the breeze, and a sick feeling in her belly. She rose, the sick feeling rose to her shoulders and became a weight, and although she left her room as a Lady, she felt like a monster inside. Lyon's mind wandered to the sleek armor. It was no Knight's piece and would never bring her honor, but when had honor been at the forefront of her mind? Perhaps once it was but Kingslanding changed people, changed the very blood that ran through their veins. She wouldn't have shared a bed with anyone other than Theon had she not left Winterfell.

Gods, did she miss both he and Jory. The two men to warm her bed and show her any semblance of romantic love. Perhaps Jory more than Theon, yet the Greyjoy knew how to be gentle at times. Was it that dark fury that burned in her belly, the one that hated her for her own dysfunction that she could not bare babes and the loss of the two men she came to care for - or was it a deep-seated hatred for the man that had taken her lover away from her?

She was too tired to feel anger or loss.

Lyon's feet had taken her to her father's doors without her knowledge, and had subconsciously lifted her hand to knock, then stopped herself. Her forehead settled upon the door and she closed her eyes.

"My Lady, are you well?"

"I'm just... I'm fine, thank you." She told her escort. "I'm going to take a stroll through the gardens. Alone, if you don't mind. I'm becoming claustrophobic."

Her two escorts exchanged a look with each other before acquiescing, and lead her to the gardens. The remained at the foot of the stairs as she strode along the cobblestone path, feeling the sun's warm glow upon her sleeveless arms. If there was one good thing about Kingslanding and the South, it was the sun. The humid climate was welcoming. Unfortunate that the people did not reflect that aspect.

She was beginning to calm when voices muffled by distance caused her to pause.

"I know the truth Jon Arryn died for."

"Do you, Lord Stark? Is that why you called me here, to pose me riddles?"

It was Lyon's father and the Queen. She tucked herself behind one of the vine-engulfed pillars and let her ears filter their conversation. The tension became thick in the air as they spoke, and not even the heat in the east could warm the blood in Lyon's veins.

"My brother is worth a thousand of your friend."

"Your brother, or your lover?" Ned muttered, distastefully, like there was bile upon his tongue. Lyon's innards churned at the very thought.

"The Targaryens wed brothers and sisters for three hundred years to keep bloodlines pure." The Queen rebuked. "Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We shared a womb. We came into this world together. We belong together."

"My son saw you with him."

Bran. Good gods, Lyon was nearly sick with disgust. She laid a hand upon her belly to calm herself as she listened to the conversation's end. Like the shadows themselves, she remained out of the sun's glare until she heard the Queen's footsteps recede before stepping tentatively into the light. She didn't meet her father's eyes at first, though he looked to her. Lyon's unsteady hand fell to her side and sat next to her father.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to look at her the same way again. Thank the Gods I am no product of incest." Lyon murmured, her voice barely carrying upon to the wind. "Do you think she'll leave with her children as you ordered?"

Ned sighed, and she noted the slight slump to his shoulders. "I can only hope."

"Hope is all we have, for now." She said. "I... I was looking for you earlier. I was going to take a walk in the gardens to clear my head. There's something I wish to discuss with you."

Ned's hand came to rest on his daughter's shoulder. A short, tired smile upon his face. "Tonight we will speak, I promise. For now, there is something I must attend to. But tonight we will talk."

Lyon offered a similar smile in return. "Of course. Good luck, father."

He left her upon her seat, where she welcomed the sunlight a little longer before rising and returning to her escort.

"Are you feeling better, my Lady?"

"Yes, thank you." She offered them a kind look before beginning back up the stairs. "I think... I'm going to write to Bran."

\- - -

The missive came to her as she was writing, and as evening approached. Lyon had sent her letter off, with words and messages from Sansa and Arya, when a silver bird settled upon her windowsill with a rolled slip of paper on its ankle.

Now she patrolled the shadows in her new armor, thankful for her new disguise, eyes out for a "spectacularly outrageous" blade, in Raphael's words. Of course, a further description was given but a blade of gold and sapphire fashioned into the blade itself seemed to stick out. Lyon had hoped to catch eye of him outside of any establishments, but a boisterous tavern caught her eye. She knew she couldn't stick to the shadows every time.

Swift Tavern was louder than any of the Winterfell taverns Lyon had encountered, with nearly double as many bodies. There was something afoot within already if there wasn't about to be. Several bodies huddled around a man who, from her periphery, she saw reach down and extract a sleek golden blade, blue stone uselessly embedded into the blade.

How tacky. She grimaced, coming to sit at the tavern's counter and ordering an ale. She drank quietly, hood drawn over her eyes, but she could pick out the voice of the man amidst the drunken clutter of sound. He boasted, but when those nearby saw the blade they began to grow closer to him, admiring the gemstones. Should one extract those gemstones, they'd fetch a pretty price...

Lyon set down her coins for her drink and slipped into the crowd. The shoving began, and the drunken shouting grew at a deafening crescendo.

"Grab it! Get the gems!"

There was a fight for the man's prize, and the bustling made it nearly impossible for Lyon to reach. Grumbling, she grabbed a man by the collar and hauled him backward, taking his place in the crowd. She heard him howl out, but she was disappearing amidst the stinking drunks. And then she was upon her target, standing behind him as she swiftly slipped her hidden dagger beneath his rib cage and upwards in one fluid motion. She felt him sag, but her blade was out and hidden within her armor before cataplexy seized him and he was on the floor. The was a shout of alarm, and then excitement as the dying man was trampled and his new prize was stolen.

But Lyon was out before the crowd could fight for the gems anew.

\- - -

Lyon returned through her window, dressed, and no later was her door trembling from fists banging upon its exterior.

"Lyon Stark, open up at once."

It wasn't one of her father's guards. She'd nearly memorized all of their voices. Instinctively she reached for her own blade.

"It is late sers, I am retiring for the night. Leave me be."

"If you do not open the door we are to retrieve you by force and bring you to the Queen."

"What is going on? Where is my father?"

There was a deafening silence on the other side. And then, a kick of an armored boot and the door blew open. The Kingslanding guard did not have their blades drawn, but the moment they saw Lyon's hands wielding her own, they became wary.

"Come any closer and you'll be sorry."

There was a chuckle from one of them, and the frontward man unsheathed his steel blade.

"Come, little girl. That is no plaything."

"I am no little girl, you twat. Stay away from me!"

"Why you..." He marched forward and went to grab her with an armored hand, but Lyon was swift and buzzing after the murder. She ducked under the man's grasp and brought her blade across the slit of unprotected flesh below his armpit, sending blood spraying across the pristine floors. The guard stumbled backward and his hand moved to his wound, almost as though in disbelief.

His resolve suddenly hardened. "Seize her," he ordered.

All at once a wave of Kingsguard swept past him and into Lyon's room, greatly outnumbering her. They made no pass at harming her by the blade, but before she could spill much more blood they'd seized her by the arms and kicked out her legs. She screamed bloody murder, for what it was worth. Then the guard, still grasping at his seeping wound, came to stand before her.

"You want to see your father so badly, girl? Fine, but you'll be sorry." He took her own blade from her and, using the pommel, brought it down upon her skull.


	22. These Dark Places

Lyon woke with a shroud of grogginess hanging over her, yet she was unaware at first whether it was the air or her own mind. It hurt to lift even her eyelids, let alone adjust her awkward position. It was though she'd been tossed to the ground like a rag doll, every limb felt stiff and ached.

"Lyon, thank the Gods. Are you alright?" Her eyes opened to find further darkness, yet it wasn't long before she adjusted and sought out her own father's face in the shadows.

"Father? Where are we? What happened?"

"The dungeons, I'm afraid." Another voice spoke, but this one was accompanied by torchlight the made Lyon's head throb. She only watched the man approach through her periphery and found his name upon her tongue with vagueness of emotion.

"Lord Varys. It seems we haven't been properly introduced..." she chuckled despite herself, then grimaced at the aching.

"So we haven't, but introductions can wait dear one. I see you've been punished with the same brutality you showed the Kingsguard."

"I think I got away with less." She rubbed a sore spot on her arm.

"What are you doing here, Lord Varys?"

"I brought water. You both must be thirsty." Lord Varys offered a bowl through the openings of the cell, but Ned did not take it, and Lyon remained still. "I promise you it isn't poisoned."

Ned warily retrieved the bowl, eyed it, then drank a sip, studied the taste. Deeming it safe, he offered it to Lyon. She became parched at the sight of the bowl, and she drank greedily at first but lowered the bowl after what she deemed too little and returned it to Ned. He drank only a little. Varys warned them of the dangers of growing thirsty. "Store it away," he said.

"Where are my daughters?"

"The younger one seems to have escaped the castle. Even my little birds cannot find her."

"And Sansa?" Ned asked.

"Still engaged to Joffrey."

"Weasel of a boy..." Lyon muttered.

"Cersei will keep her close. The rest of your household though, all dead, it grieves me to say. I do so hate the sight of blood."

Lyon's stomach churned at the grim news, she felt the urge to retch but forced it down. She didn't think she could live with the smell, not that the dungeons smelled of anything but piss and shit and the dead. She listened while Ned and Varys spoke, some words sticking to her addled mind, others drifting away as though she hadn't even heard them spoken.

Had he said Tyrian escaped her mother? Lyon couldn't be sure. She didn't feel any hatred toward that Lannister, at least.

It took her several moments to realize Varys' voice was gone, and so was his torchlight. She and Ned were alone.

"Well, we truly are fucked now, are we not?" Lyon offered what little humor she could, but the tone died on her tongue. Instead, it became a grim forecast. "I managed to cut a couple of them up a bit before their number's outmatched my skill."

"There must have been many," Ned said, and the teasing in his tone was not lost on her.

"Flatterer."

"How hurt are you?"

"A few bruises, and what feels like too much wine sloshing around in this skull of mine. And you?"

"I've seen better days."

"Hmm." Lyon mused. She forced her eyes to remain open and look to her father. "Everyone is dead. We truly are in the lion's den now."

"Don't despair-"

"I'm not."

"We'll find a way out of here. We'll go home. Back to Winterfell."

A sad smile came to Lyon, and she shuffled to her father's side, resting her head upon his shoulder. "And Bran will walk again, and Stark blood will flow through my veins, and Jon will come home... I miss them."

Ned's hand softly touched her dirtied blonde hair reassuringly. "I do too."

Lyon paused briefly. "I've been keeping secrets from you. More than I care to admit." She was met with silence and continued. "I wanted to talk to you about them. I'm... I'm ashamed of who I've become."

She felt hot tears prick her eyes, and Ned pulled her closer as she began to tremble. "Hush child, you needn't tell me if you don't want to."

"But I must." She said. "I'm afraid of never getting the chance to tell you again. I... I don't know where to start."

"Wherever you like. I'm here to listen."

She felt the warmth from him despite the coolness of the cell. Despite all of their differences in the past, she never felt closer to anyone than her own father. He'd raised her. She only hoped he wasn't going to be ashamed of her after she divulged her secrets.

"I'm barren." She whispered. "I discovered it in Winterfell. Theon and I had become close and reckless. I never become pregnant. No matter what." She could feel Ned tense protectively, then pulled away from him. She slumped against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest. "When we left Winterfell- when I left Theon- I missed him. Not him but the companionship. Jory and I became close in Kingslanding."

"Lyon..."

"He treated me better than Theon had, but still no child. Jory said he loved me. I said terrible things to him before he died. I never got to apologize." Her sobs, though muted, made way for the fresh flow of tears down her face. "And you were hurt. I was so scared, so alone, a woman without a womb. I made a bad choice, but I would never go back on it. Do you... Do you remember that man that was murdered at the tournament?"

Ned nodded grimly.

"I killed him to ensure my own safety. From his league of assassins or from the Queen, I wasn't quite sure yet. But I didn't want to do it again until..."

"Until I was injured, and Jory..."

"Slain, yes. I killed the Drumm man, and the woman whose body was found in the Sept, and the man with that horrid sword in that tavern. I killed them in such filthy ways, reminded I would suffer no child, and the loneliness was so overwhelming. Sansa and Arya will be safe, they have Raphael's protection. I pray you have his protection as well."

"By the Gods, Lyon."

A loud sob shook her. "P-please don't be ashamed of me. I didn't want to lose you all." She buried her face in her hands and only began sobbing harder as Ned embraced her and held her to him, a father calming his weeping child.

"You have made unfortunate choices, as have we all, but I could never be ashamed of you. To risk your life as you did for your family... That is devotion. Do not feel shame, Lyon. Do not feel shame."

She cried longer and harder until she had no energy left to cry, and silent tears fell instead. Even as she slipped into sleep did they fall.

\- - -

"Remove her from this cell at once."

Loud footsteps and an authoritative tone jarred Lyon from her rest. Her body and head still ached, but open her eyes cake easier this time, even if they came to settle upon the golden hair of the Queen and her guard.

This time she didn't fight back as they lifted her to her feet and dragged her outside. She heard her father argue for several moments, then fall silent.

"Quiet, Ned. You know as well as I that she is no daughter of yours."

Lyon stood upright, a guard supporting her side as she stood beside the queen. Cersei's fingers came to tangle in Lyon's hair, and she eyed her injuries.

"King Robert has passed, and he will not take you from me again. Come, let's get you away from this filth and clean you, my child. You must be exhausted."

Lyon's hooded eyes met her father's once more, then she and the queen were gone, lead away past a flurry of stairs and halls until they became blues to Lyon. She found herself in a room, in a bath. The Queen was gone, a woman was scrubbing her bruised and broken skin, and greasy hair. Then she was clean and placed in a dress, and her hair was styled. All while she stared blankly ahead of her, even as she was sat across from the Queen in another room.

"I have been keeping secrets from you, I'm afraid. As has your 'father'." The Queen began, moving to sit beside Lyon. She didn't recognize the room, only that they were alone, and the queen's hands were holding hers. "Some time ago I became pregnant with my first child. I was excited to welcome a child into this world, overwhelmed with excitement and love for my husband. That love was short-lived, as was my excitement. The king didn't believe that the babe was his. He became so drunk so often that he didn't recall bedding me... So he made me abandon the child. But I would not kill it. I sent it away, to live far from Kingslanding. And by some stroke of luck... the child returned."

Cersei's hand rose to softly caress Lyon's cheek, lovingly. An image of the queen's body, contorted around Jaime's flashed in her mind. She suddenly felt ill.

"You look just like her. Same blonde hair, same green eyes. I knew soon after I saw you that you were no Stark, my dear. And I have a feeling you knew as well. Lannister blood flows through your veins, as it flows through mine. My sweet child, my first born..." She didn't seem concerned by Lyon's silence. "But you must be exhausted and overwhelmed. Rest, little lion."

Cersei lifted Lyon's hands and lead her to a bed, kissing her softly upon the brow. She took her leave, and Lyon stared at the ceiling of the unfamiliar room until she slept again.


	23. Epilogue

Since she could remember, death had been a part of Lyon's life. It had been so long ago that she saw her first execution that she couldn't remember how old she had been, and had seen so many since that time that she couldn't remember how many heads had fallen to the ground with sickening thuds. It was so much different when it was her father's head.

Everything that led up to Ned Stark's execution happened in a blur to Lyon. She remembered arms dragging her along onto the platform where the headsman and the block sat. She remembered seeing her sister Sansa standing beside her, but could do little but hold her. Lyon's limp grip offered little comfort.

"You don't have to watch, Sansa. I'll watch for both of us."

Lyon couldn't tear her eyes away as the blade sliced clean through Ned Stark's neck, and just like that, he was gone. She had no tears left to cry, no energy to do anything but watch the head roll across the ground. Somewhere in her belly, there sparked the kindling for a great fire.


End file.
